After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day
by Marcelle Nezat
Summary: Loki/OC AU Another version of my story Tomorrow Is Another Day. Loki is banished to Earth at the time of the start of the Civil War and meets charming Southern Belle, Eugenia Rotchford. They eventually marry, making Eugenia live as long as her husband. But she has a hard time keeping her husband First few parts inspired by Gone With The Wind.
1. She Would Never Forget

**A/N: Part of this fanfic takes place in the South in the 1860's, meaning that there will be some issues with slavery. These do not reflect my personal views, merely the views of the time period.**

**The main part of the chapter is taken for **_**Gone With The Wind**_** written by Margaret Mitchell**

...

_There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called the Old South…_

_Here in this pretty world of Gallantry took its last bow…_

_Here was the last ever to be seen of the Knights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and Slave…_

_Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered._

_A Civilization gone with the wind…_

...

Chapter One

She Would Never Forget

...

_Elisabeth Louise_

_"Emerald Bell"_

_Porter_

_March 15, 1869-May 9, 1873_

Victoria Eugenia Rotchford laid the violets she had picked on Emerald's grave and blew it a kiss.

Little Emerald. Little Emmy. That's what they called her, Emmy. She remembered everthing about her starting with how they named her. The name agreed upon for the child was Elisabeth Louise, but that afternoon Amelia Montgomery unwittingly bestowed a name that clung.

_..._

_"They're going to be bright green, like her papa's," Amelia said warmly, with her usual comforting and tender smile on her lips._

_"Indeed they are not," cried Eugenia indignantly. "They are going to be blue, like my daddy's eyes, as blue as-as blue as the bonnie blue flag."_

_"No, I agree with Mrs. Montgomery. She's going to have my eyes," agreed Loki._

_"Green as emerald. And I bet she'll have a laugh like a bell," Amelia continued._

_"Emerald Bell!"_

_"Captain Porter what are you talking about?" Amelia asked laughingly_

_"That's what we'll call her. Emerald's are precious jewel, and that is what she is to me,"_

_"And belle means beautiful in French. I'm sure she'll turn out to be a great beauty," Amelia put in._

_"Mally, don't encourage him," warned Eugenia._

_"Emerald Bell Porter," laughed Loki, taking the child from her and peering more closely into the small eyes. And Emerald Bell, later shortened to "Emmy Bell," she became until even her parents did not recall that she had been named for two queens._

_..._

How her father adored her. How he gave her anything she'd ever wanted. How her father said, "she's the first person to completely belong to me." But when she died, she took her father and her mother's relationship with her.

She remembered what he said when he left her:

_"As long as there was Emmy, there was a chance we might be happy. I liked to think Emmy was you. A little girl again, before the war and povery had done things to you. She was so like you, and I could pet her, and spoil her, as I wanted to spoil you. But when she went, she took everything."_

And only minutes after her said that, he left her. And that was only second of many times he would leave her.

She'd never forget the day she met him. She'd never forget him in general. But the day they met, that would always stick out in her mind.

...

April, 1861

_Few women in Georgia could rival Victoria Euginia Rotchford, or just Eugenia, as every one but her father called her. She was the envy of all of her friends one of her sisters, Emily Elizabeth, or Emmabeth (her other sister, Mary Cate was much sweeter, probably the sweetest of the Austen girls). She was everything, beautiful, charming, witty and she held the heart of every man in the county._

_Her face resembled more of the soft, delicate features of her French mother than the heavy ones of her Irish father. Her long, soft, ash blonde hair that fell down her back in curls. Her eyes were big, round and doe-like and the color of sparkling plums. Her family called the Eugenia's saucers. Surrounding her eyes ere long black eyelashes that curled at the tips. Above them were thick brows, slightly darker than her hair, more of a golden color, that slanted upwards. Her lips were as red as rubys and her cheeks had a rosy tint, and on one of her cheeks, there was a black beauty mark. Her skin was soft and smooth and as white as a porcelain doll. Her body was thin and tiny and she was short in hight, only about five feet and three inches. Her height was probably the only trait she had inherited from her fathre_

_Seated with__ Walter__ and __Edward__Babcock__ in the cool shade of the porch of T__essa__, her father's__plantation, that bright April afternoon of 1861, she made a pretty picture. Her new __white __muslin dres__s with red belt__ spread its twelve yards of billowing material over her hoops and__exactly matched the flat-heeled __red__ morocco slippers her father had recently brought her__from Atlanta. The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the smallest in three__counties, and the tightly fitting basque showed breasts well matured for her sixteen years.__But for all the modesty of her spreading skirts, the demureness of hair netted smoothly into a__chignon and the quietness of small white hands folded in her lap, her true self was poorly__concealed. The green eyes in the carefully sweet face were turbulent, willful, lusty with life,__distinctly at variance with her decorous demeanor. Her manners had been imposed upon her__by her mother's gentle admonitions and the sterner discipline of her __nan__; her eyes were__her own._

_On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs, squinting at the sunlight__through tall mint-garnished glasses as they laughed and talked, their long legs, booted to the__knee and thick with saddle muscles, crossed negligently__.Nineteen years old, six feet two__ inches tall, long of bone and hard of muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, inches tall, long of bone and hard of muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair,colored breeches, they were as much alike as two bolls of cotton._

_Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in the yard, throwing into gleaming brightness the dogwood trees that were solid masses of white blossoms against the background of new green. The twins' horses were hitched in the driveway, big animals, red as their masters' hair; and around the horses' legs quarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds that accompanied Stuart and Brent wherever they went. A little aloof, as became an aristocrat, lay a black-spotted carriage dog, muzzle on paws, patiently waiting for the boys to go home to supper._

_Between the hounds and the horses and the twins there was a kinship deeper than that of their constant companionship. They were all healthy, thoughtless young animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the boys as mettlesome as the horses they rode, mettlesome and dangerous but, withal, sweet-tempered to those who knew how to handle them. _

_Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and foot since infancy, the faces of the three on the porch were neither slack nor soft. They had the vigor and alertness of country people who have spent all their lives in the open and troubled their heads very little with dull things in books. Life in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and, according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a little crude. The more sedate and older sections of the South looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classical education carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things that mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered._

_In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally outstanding in their notorious inability to learn anything contained between the covers of books. Their family had more money, more horses, more slaves than any one else in the County, but the boys had less grammar than most of the slaves._

_It was for this precise reason that Walter and Edward were idling on the porch of Tara this April afternoon. They had just been expelled from the University of Georgia, the fourth university that had thrown them out in two years; and their older brothers, Lee and Jack, had come home with them, because they refused to remain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuart and Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and Eugenia, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville Female Academy the year before, thought it just as amusing as they did._

"_I know you two don't care about being expelled, or Lee either," she said. "But what about Jack? He's kind of set on getting an education, and you two have pulled him out of the University of Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He'll never get finished at this rate."_

"_Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee's office over in Fayetteville," answered Edward carelessly. "Besides, it don't matter much. We'd have had to come home before the term was_

_"Why?"_

"_The war, goose! The war's going to start any day, and you don't suppose any of us would stay in college with a war going on, do you?"_

"_You know there isn't going to be any war," said Eugenia, bored. "It's all just talk. Why, Daniel Motgomery and his father told Daddy just last week that our commissioners in Washington would come to-to-an-amicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of us to fight. There won't be any war, and I'm tired of hearing about it."_

"_Not going to be any war!" cried the twins indignantly, as though they had been defrauded._

"_Why, honey, of course there's going to be a war," said Walter. "The Yankees may be scared of us, but after the way General Beauregard shelled them out of Fort Sumter day before yesterday, they'll have to fight or stand branded as cowards before the whole world. Why, the Confederacy-"_

_Eugenia made a mouth of bored impatience._

"_If you say 'war' just once more, I'll go in the house and shut the door. I've never gotten so tired of any one word in my life as 'war,' unless it's 'secession.' Daddy talks war morning, noon and night, and all the gentlemen who come to see him shout about Fort Sumter and States' Rights and Abe Lincoln till I get so bored I could scream! And that's all the boys talk about, too, that and their old Troop. There hasn't been any fun at any party this spring because the boys can't talk about anything else. I'm mighty glad Georgia waited till after Christmas before it seceded or it would have ruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say 'war' again, I'll go in the house."_

_She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any conversation of which she was not the chief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, consciously deepening her dimple and fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies' wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them to be, and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none the less of her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought more. War was men's business, not ladies', and they took her attitude as evidence of her femininity._

_Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she went back with interest to their immediate situation._

"_What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?"_

_The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother's conduct three months ago when they had come home, by request, from the University of Virginia._

"_Well," said Walter, "she hasn't had a chance to say anything yet. Lee and us left home early this morning before she got up, and Lee's laying out over at the Banks' while we came over here."_

"_Didn't she say anything when you got home last night?"_

"_We were in luck last night. Just before we got home that new stallion Ma got in Kentucky last month was brought in, and the place was in a stew. The big brute-he's a grand horse, Scarlett; you must tell your pa to come over and see him right away-he'd already bitten a hunk out of his groom on the way down here and he'd trampled two of Ma's darkies who met the train at Jonesboro. And just before we got home, he'd about kicked the stable down and half-killed Strawberry, Ma's old stallion. When we got home, Ma was out in the stable with a sackful of sugar smoothing him down and doing it mighty well, too. The darkies were hanging from the rafters, popeyed, they were so scared, but Ma was talking to the horse like he was folks and he was eating out of her hand. There ain't nobody like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us she said: 'In Heaven's name, what are you four doing home again? You're worse than the plagues of Egypt!' And then the horse began snorting and rearing and she said: 'Get out of here! Can't you see he's nervous, the big darling? I'll tend to you four in the morning!' So we went to bed, and this morning we got away before she could catch us and left Jack to handle her."_

"_Do you suppose she'll hit Jack?" Eugenia, like the rest of the County, could never get used to the way small Mrs. Bacbcock bullied her grown sons and laid her riding crop on their backs if the occasion seemed to warrant it._

_Augusta Babcock was a busy woman, having on her hands not only a large cotton plantation, a hundred negroes and eight children, but the largest horse-breeding farm in the state as well. She was hot-tempered and easily plagued by the frequent scrapes of her four sons, and while no one was permitted to whip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and then didn't do the boys any harm._

"_Of course she won't hit Jack. She never did beat Jack much because he's the oldest and besides he's the runt of the litter," said Walter, proud of his six feet two. "That's why we left him at home to explain things to her. God'lmighty, Ma ought to stop licking us! We're nineteen and Lee's twenty-one, and she acts like we're six years old."_

"_Will your mother ride the new horse to the Montgomery's barbecue tomorrow?"_

"_She wants to, but Pa says he's too dangerous. And, anyway, the girls won't let her. They said they were going to have her go to one party at least like a lady, riding in the carriage."_

"_I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow," said Eugenia. "It's rained nearly every day for a week. There's nothing worse than a barbecue turned into an indoor picnic."_

"_Oh, it'll be clear tomorrow and hot as June," said Walter. "Look at that sunset. I never saw one redder. You can always tell weather by sunsets."_

_They looked out across the endless acres of Thomas Austen's newly plowed cotton fields toward the red horizon. Now that the sun was setting in a welter of crimson behind the hills across the Flint River, the warmth of the April day was ebbing into a faint but balmy chill. Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing of pink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river swamp and far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished, and the bloody glory of the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia clay to even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the cotton seeds, showed pinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet and maroon where shadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The whitewashed brick plantation house seemed an island set in a wild red sea, a sea of spiraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at the moment when the pink-tipped waves were breaking into surf. For here were no long, straight furrows, such as could be seen in the yellow clay fields of the flat middle Georgia country or in the lush black earth of the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country of north Georgia was plowed in a million curves to keep the rich earth from washing down into the river bottoms. _

_It was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains, brick dust in droughts, the best cotton land in the world. It was a pleasant land of white houses, peaceful plowed fields and sluggish yellow rivers, but a land of contrasts, of brightest sun glare and densest shade. The plantation clearings and miles of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At their edges rose the virgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons, mysterious, a little sinister, the soughing pines seeming to wait with an age-old patience, to threaten with soft sighs: "Be careful! Be careful! We had you once. We can take you back again."_

_The twins decided that they should start heading home. But they were loath to face their mother and they lingered on the porch of Tessa, momentarily expecting Eugenia to give them an invitation to supper._

"_Look, Scarlett. About tomorrow," said Edward. "Just because we've been away and didn't know about the barbecue and the ball, that's no reason why we shouldn't get plenty of dances tomorrow night. You haven't promised them all, have you?"_

"_Well, I have! How did I know you all would be home? I couldn't risk being a wallflower just waiting on you two."_

"_You a wallflower!" The boys laughed uproariously._

"_Look, honey. You've got to give me the first waltz and Wally the last one and you've got to eat supper with us. We'll sit on the stair landing like we did at the last ball and get Nanny Dulce to come tell our fortunes again."_

"_I don't like Nanny Dulce's fortunes. You know she said I was going to marry a gentleman with jet-black hair and emerald eyes, and I don't like black-haired gentlemen." _

"_You like 'em red-headed, don't you, honey?" grinned Edward. "Now, come on, promise us all the waltzes and the supper."_

"_If you'll promise, we'll tell you a secret," said Walter._

"_What?" cried Eugenia, alert as a child at the word._

"_Is it what we heard yesterday in Atlanta, Walter? If it is, you know we promised not to tell."_

"_Well, Miss Merri told us."_

"_Miss Who?"_

"_You know, Daniel Montgomery's cousin who lives in Atlanta, Miss Merripennie Tippett-Adam and Amelia Tippett's aunt."_

"_I do, and a sillier old lady I never met in all my life."_

"_Well, when we were in Atlanta yesterday, waiting for the home train, her carriage went by the depot and she stopped and talked to us, and she told us there was going to be an engagement announced tomorrow night at the Montgomery's ball."_

"_Oh. I know about that," said Eugenia in disappointment. "That silly nephew of hers, Adam, and Ann Montgomery. Everybody's known for years that they'd get married some time, even if he did seem kind of lukewarm about it."_

"_Do you think he's silly?" questioned Edward. "Last Christmas you sure let him buzz round you plenty."_

"_I couldn't help him buzzing," Eugenia shrugged negligently. "I think he's an awful sissy."_

"_Besides, it isn't his engagement that's going to be announced," said Walter triumphantly._

"_It's Daniel's to Adam's sister, Miss Amelia!"_

_Eugenia's face did not change but her lips went white-like a person who has received a stunning blow without warning and who, in the first moments of shock, does not realize what has happened. So still was her face as she stared at Wally that he, never analytic, took it for granted that she was merely surprised and very interested._

"_Miss Merri told us they hadn't intended announcing it till next year, because Miss Mally hasn't been very well; but with all the war talk going around, everybody in both families thought it would be better to get married soon. So it's to be announced tomorrow night at the supper intermission. Now, Eugenia, we've told you the secret, so you've got to promise to eat supper with us."_

"_Of course I will," Eugenia said automatically._

"_And all the waltzes?"_

"_All."_

"_You're sweet! I'll bet the other boys will be hopping mad."_

"_Let 'em be mad," said Edward. "We two can handle 'em. Look, Scarlett. Sit with us at the barbecue in the morning."_

"_What?"_

_Walter repeated his request._

"_Of course."_

_The twins looked at each other jubilantly but with some surprise. Although they considered themselves Eugenia's favored suitors, they had never before gained tokens of this favor so easily. Usually she made them beg and plead, while she put them off, refusing to give a Yes or No answer, laughing if they sulked, growing cool if they became angry. And here she had practically promised them the whole of tomorrow-seats by her at the barbecue, all the waltzes (and they'd see to it that the dances were all waltzes!) and the supper intermission. This was worth getting expelled from the university._

_Filled with new enthusiasm by their success, they lingered on, talking about the barbecue and the ball and Daniel Montgomery and Amelia Tippett, also called "Mally," interrupting each other, making jokes and laughing at them, hinting broadly for invitations to supper. Some time had passed before they realized that Eugenia was having very little to say. The atmosphere had somehow changed. Just how, the twins did not know, but the fine glow had gone out of the afternoon. Scarlett seemed to be paying little attention to what they said, although she made the correct answers. Sensing something they could not understand, baffled and annoyed by it, the twins struggled along for a while, and then rose reluctantly, looking at their watches._

_The sun was low across the new-plowed fields and the tall woods across the river were looming blackly in silhouette. Chimney swallows were darting swiftly across the yard, and chickens, ducks and turkeys were waddling and strutting and straggling in from the fields._

_Walter bellowed: "Stewie!" And after an interval a tall black boy of their own age ran breathlessly around the house and out toward the tethered horses. Stewie was their body servant and, like the dogs, accompanied them everywhere. He had been their childhood playmate and had been given to the twins for their own on their tenth birthday. At the sight of him, the Babcock hounds rose up out of the red dust and stood waiting expectantly for their masters. The boys bowed, shook hands and told Eugenia they'd be over at the Montgomery's early in the morning, waiting for her. Then they were off down the walk at a rush, mounted their horses and, followed by Stewie, went down the avenue of cedars at a gallop, waving their hats and yelling back to her._

_When they had rounded the curve of the dusty road that hid them from Tessa, Edward drew his horse to a stop under a clump of dogwood. Walter halted, too, and the darky boy pulled up a few paces behind them. The horses, feeling slack reins, stretched down their necks to crop the tender spring grass, and the patient hounds lay down again in the soft red dust and looked up longingly at the chimney swallows circling in the gathering dusk. Edwards's wide ingenuous face was puzzled and mildly indignant._

"_Look," he said. "Don't it look to you like she would of asked us to stay for supper?"_

"_I thought she would," said Walter. "I kept waiting for her to do it, but she didn't. What do you make of it?"_

"_I don't make anything of it. But it just looks to me like she might of. After all, it's our first day home and she hasn't seen us in quite a spell. And we had lots more things to tell her."_

"_It looked to me like she was mighty glad to see us when we came."_

"_I thought so, too."_

"_And then, about a half-hour ago, she got kind of quiet, like she had a headache."_

"_I noticed that but I didn't pay it any mind then. What do you suppose ailed her?"_

"_I dunno. Do you suppose we said something that made her mad?"_

_They both thought for a minute._

"_I can't think of anything. Besides, when Scarlett gets mad, everybody knows it. She don't hold herself in like some girls do."_

"_Yes, that's what I like about her. She don't go around being cold and hateful when she's mad-she tells you about it. But it was something we did or said that made her shut up talking and look sort of sick. I could swear she was glad to see us when we came and was aiming to ask us to supper."_

"_You don't suppose it's because we got expelled?"_

"_Hell, no! Don't be a fool. She laughed like everything when we told her about it. And besides Scarlett don't set any more store by book learning than we do."_

_Edward turned in the saddle and called to the groom._

"_Stewie!"_

"_Suh?"_

"_You heard what we were talking to Miss Eugenia about?"_

"_Nawsuh, Mist' Edward! Huccome you think Ah be spyin' on w'ite folks?"_

"_Spying, my God! You darkies know everything that goes on. Why, you liar, I saw you with my own eyes sidle round the corner of the porch and squat in the cape jessamine bush by the wall. Now, did you hear us say anything that might have made Miss Eugenia mad- or hurt her feelings?"_

_Thus appealed to, Stewi gave up further pretense of not having overheard the conversation and furrowed his black brow._

"_Nawsuh, Ah din' notice y'all say anything ter mek her mad. Look ter me lak she sho glad ter see you an' sho had missed you, an' she cheep along happy as a bird, tell 'bout de time y'all got ter talkin' 'bout Mist' Daniel an' Miss Mally Tippett gittin' mah'ied. Den she quiet down lak a bird w'en de hawk fly ober."_

_The twins looked at each other and nodded, but without comprehension._

"_Stewie is right. But I don't see why," said Walter. "My Lord! Edward don't mean anything to her, 'cept a friend. She's not crazy about him. It's us she's crazy about."_

_Edward nodded an agreement._

"_But do you suppose," he said, "that maybe Daniel hadn't told her he was going to announce it tomorrow night and she was mad at him for not telling her, an old friend, before he told everybody else? Girls set a big store on knowing such things first."_

"_Well, maybe. But what if he hadn't told her it was tomorrow? It was supposed to be a secret and a surprise, and a man's got a right to keep his own engagement quiet, hasn't he? We wouldn't have known it if Miss Mally's aunt hadn't let it out. But Eugenia must have known he was going to marry Miss Melly sometime. Why, we've known it for years. The Montgomery's and Tippett's always marry their own cousins. Everybody knew he'd probably marry her some day, just like Ann Montgomery is going to marry Miss Mally's brother, Adam."_

"_Well, I give it up. But I'm sorry she didn't ask us to supper. I swear I don't want to go home and listen to Ma take on about us being expelled. It isn't as if this was the first time."_

"_Maybe Jack will have smoothed her down by now. You know what a slick talker that little varmint is. You know he always can smooth her down."_

"_Yes, he can do it, but it takes Jack time. He has to talk around in circles till Ma gets so confused that she gives up and tells him to save his voice for his law practice. But he ain't had time to get good started yet. Why, I'll bet you Ma is still so excited about the new horse that she'll never even realize we're home again till she sits down to supper tonight and sees Jack. And before supper is over she'll be going strong and breathing fire. And it'll be ten o'clock before Jack gets a chance to tell her that it wouldn't have been honorable for any of us to stay in college after the way the Chancellor talked to you and me. And it'll be midnight before he gets her turned around to where she's so mad at the Chancellor she'll be asking Jack why he didn't shoot him. No, we can't go home till after midnight."_

_The twins looked at each other glumly. They were completely fearless of wild horses, shooting affrays and the indignation of their neighbors, but they had a wholesome fear of their red-haired mother's outspoken remarks and the riding crop that she did not scruple to lay across their breeches._

"_Well, look," said Edward. "Let's go over to the Montgomery's. Daniel and the girls'll be glad to have us for supper."_

_Walter looked a little discomforted._

"_No, don't let's go there. They'll be in a stew getting ready for the barbecue tomorrow and besides-"_

"_Oh, I forgot about that," said Edward hastily. "No, don't let's go there."_

_They clucked to their horses and rode along in silence for a while, a flush of embarrassmet on Walter's brown cheeks. Until the previous summer, Walter had courted Lucy Montgomery with the approbation of both families and the entire County. The County felt that perhaps the cool and contained Lucy Montgomry would have a quieting effect on him. They fervently hoped so, at any rate. And Walter might have made the match, but Brent had not been satisfied. Edward liked Lucy but he thought her mighty plain and tame, and he simply could not fall in love with her himself to keep Walter company. That was the first time the twins' interest had ever diverged, and Brent was resentful of his brother's attentions to a girl who seemed to him notat all remarkable._

_Then, last summer at a political speaking in a grove of oak trees at Jonesboro, they both suddenly became aware of Eugenia Rothford. They had known her for years, and, since their childhood, she had been a favorite playmate, for she could ride horses and climb trees almost as well as they. But now to their amazement she had become a grown-up young lady and quite the most charming one in all the world._

_They noticed for the first time how her green eyes danced, how deep her dimples were when she laughed, how tiny her hands and feet and what a small waist she had. Their clever remarks sent her into merry peals of laughter and, inspired by the thought that she considered them a remarkable pair, they fairly outdid themselves._

_It was a memorable day in the life of the twins. Thereafter, when they talked it over, they always wondered just why they had failed to notice Eugenia's charms before. They never arrived at the correct answer, which was that Eugenia on that day had decided to make them notice. She was constitutionally unable to endure any man being in love with any woman not herself, and the sight of Lucy Montgomery and Walter at the speaking had been too much for her predatory nature. Not content with Stuart alone, she had set her cap for Edward as well, and with a thoroughness that overwhelmed the two of them._

_Now they were both in love with her, and Lucy Montgomery and Georgina Haselwood, from Lovejoy, whom Edward had been half-heartedly courting, were far in the back of their minds. Just what the loser would do, should Eugenia accept either one of them, the twins did not ask. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. For the present they were quite satisfied to be in accord again about one girl, for they had no jealousies between them. It was a situation which interested the neighbors and annoyed their mother, who had no liking for Eugenia. _

"_It will serve you right if that sly piece does accept one of you," she said. "Or maybe she'll accept both of you, and then you'll have to move to Utah, if the Mormons'll have you-which I doubt. . . . All that bothers me is that some one of these days you're both going to get lickered up and jealous of each other about that two-faced, little, green-eyed baggage, and you'll shoot each other. But that might not be a bad idea either." _

_Since the day of the speaking, Walter had been uncomfortable in Lucy's presence. Not that India ever reproached him or even indicated by look or gesture that she was aware of his abruptly changed allegiance. She was too much of a lady. But Walter felt guilty and ill at ease with her. He knew he had made Lucy love him and he knew that she still loved him and, deep in his heart, he had the feeling that he had not played the gentleman. He still liked her tremendously and respected her for her cool good breeding, her book learning and all the sterling qualities she possessed. But, damn it, she was just so pallid and uninteresting and always the same, beside Scarlett's bright and changeable charm. You always knew where you stood with India and you never had the slightest notion with Eugenia. That was enough to drive a man to distraction, but it had its charm._

"_Well, let's go over to Sid Throckmorton's and have supper. Eugenia said Samantha was home from Charleston. Maybe she'll have some news about Fort Sumter that we haven't heard."_

"_Not Samantha. I'll lay you two to one she didn't even know the fort was out there in the harbor, much less that it was full of Yankees until we shelled them out. All she'll know about is the balls she went to and the beaux she collected."_

"_Well, it's fun to hear her gabble. And it'll be somewhere to hide out till Ma has gone to bed."_

"_Well, hell! I like Samantha and she is fun and I'd like to hear about the rest of the Charleston folks; but I'm damned if I can stand sitting through another meal with that Yankee stepmother of hers."_

"_Don't be too hard on her, Walter. She means well."_

"_I'm not being hard on her. I feel sorry for her, but I don't like people I've got to feel sorry for. And she fusses around so much, trying to do the right thing and make you feel at home, that she always manages to say and do just exactly the wrong thing. She gives me the fidgets! And she thinks Southerners are wild barbarians. She even told Ma so. She's afraid of Southerners. Whenever we're there she always looks scared to death. She reminds me of a skinny hen perched on a chair, her eyes kind of bright and blank and scared, all ready to flap and squawk at the slightest move anybody makes."_

"_Well, you can't blame her. You did shoot Cade in the leg."_

"_Well, I was lickered up or I wouldn't have done it," said Walter. "And Sid never had any hard feelings. Neither did Samantha or Bradford or Mr. Throckmorton. It was just that Yankee stepmother who squalled and said I was a wild barbarian and decent people weren't safe around uncivilized Southerners."_

"_Well, you can't blame her. She's a Yankee and ain't got very good manners; and, after all, you did shoot him and he is her stepson."_

"_Well, hell! That's no excuse for insulting me! You are Ma's own blood son, but did she take on that time Benny Banks shot you in the leg? No, she just sent for old Charlie Banks to dress it and asked the doctor what ailed Benny's aim. Said she guessed licker was spoiling his marksmanship. Remember how mad that made Benny?"_

_Both boys yelled with laughter._

"_Ma's a card!" said Edward with loving approval. "You can always count on her to do the right thing and not embarrass you in front of folks."_

"_Yes, but she's mighty liable to talk embarrassing in front of Father and the girls when we gethome tonight," said Walter gloomily. "Look, Edward. I guess this means we don't go to Europe. You know Mother said if we got expelled from another college we couldn't have our Grand Tour."_

"_Well, hell! We don't care, do we? What is there to see in Europe? I'll bet those foreigners can't show us a thing we haven't got right here in Georgia. I'll bet their horses aren't as fast or their girls as pretty, and I know damn well they haven't got any rye whisky that can touch Father's."_

"_Daniel Montgomery said they had an awful lot of scenery and music. Ashley liked Europe. He's always talking about it."_

"_Well-you know how the Montgomery's are. They are kind of queer about music and books and scenery. Mother says it's because their grandfather came from Virginia. She says Virginians set quite a store by such things."_

"_They can have 'em. Give me a good horse to ride and some good licker to drink and a good girl to court and a bad girl to have fun with and anybody can have their Europe. . . . What do we care about missing the Tour? Suppose we were in Europe now, with the war coming on? We couldn't get home soon enough. I'd heap rather go to a war than go to Europe."_

"_So would I, any day. . . . Look, Brent! I know where we can go for supper. Let's ride across the swamp to Barney Winters' place and tell him we're all four home again and ready for drill."_

"_That's an idea!" cried Edward with enthusiasm. "And we can hear all the news of the Troop and find out what color they finally decided on for the uniforms."_

"_If it's Zouave, I'm damned if I'll go in the troop. I'd feel like a sissy in those baggy red pants. They look like ladies' red flannel drawers to me."_

"_Is y'all aimin' ter go ter Mist' Winters'? 'Cause ef you is, you ain' gwine git much supper," said Stewie. "Dey cook done died, an' dey ain' bought a new one. Dey got a fe'el han' cookin', an' de niggers tells me she is de wustest cook in de state."_

"_Good God! Why don't they buy another cook?"_

"_Huccome po' w'ite trash buy any niggers? Dey ain' never owned mo'n fo' at de mostes'." There was frank contempt in Jeems' voice. His own social status was assured because the Babcock's owned a hundred negroes and, like all slaves of large planters, he looked down on small farmers whose slaves were few._

"_I'm going to beat your hide off for that," cried Walter fiercely. Don't you call Barney Winters 'po' white.' Sure he's poor, but he ain't trash; and I'm damned if I'll have any man, darky orwhite, throwing off on him. There ain't a better man in this County, or why else did the Troop elect him lieutenant?"_

"_Ah ain' never figgered dat out, mahseff," replied Stewie, undisturbed by his master's scowl. "Look ter me lak dey'd 'lect all de awficers frum rich gempmum, 'stead of swamp trash."_

"_He ain't trash! Do you mean to compare him with real white trash like the Slatterys? Able just ain't rich. He's a small farmer, not a big planter, and if the boys thought enough of him to elect him lieutenant, then it's not for any darky to talk impudent about him. The Troop knows what it's doing."_

_The troop of cavalry had been organized three months before, the very day that Georgia seceded from the Union, and since then the recruits had been whistling for war. The outfit was as yet unnamed, though not for want of suggestions. Everyone had his own idea on that subject and was loath to relinquish it, just as everyone had ideas about the color and cut of the uniforms. "Clayton Wild Cats," "Fire Eaters," "North Georgia Hussars," "Zouaves," "The Inland Rifles" (although the Troop was to be armed with pistols, sabers and bowie knives, and not with rifles), "The Clayton Grays," "The Blood and Thunderers," "The Rough and Readys," all had their adherents. Until matters were settled, everyone referred to the organization as the Troop and, despite the high-sounding name finally adopted, they were known to the end of their usefulness simply as "The Troop."_

_The officers were elected by the members, for no one in the County had had any military experience except a few veterans of the Mexican and Seminole wars and, besides, the Troop would have scorned a veteran as a leader if they had not personally liked him and trusted him. Everyone liked the four Babcock boys and the three Banks', but regretfully refused to elect them, because the Babcock got lickered Montgomery up too quickly and liked to skylark, and the Banks' had such quick, murderous tempers. Daniel Montgomery was elected captain, because he was the best rider in the County and because his cool head was counted on to keep some semblance of order. Bradford Thockermorton was made first lieutenant, because everybody liked Brad, and Barney Winters, son of a swamp trapper, himself a small farmer, was elected second lieutenant._

_Barney was a shrewd, grave giant, illiterate, kind of heart, older than the other boys and with as good or better manners in the presence of ladies. There was little snobbery in the Troop. Too many of their fathers and grandfathers had come up to wealth from the small farmer class for that. Moreover, Barney was the best shot in the Troop, a real sharpshooter who could pick out the eye of a squirrel at seventy-five yards, and, too, he knew all about living outdoors, building fires in the rain, tracking animals and finding water. The Troop bowed to real worth and moreover, because they liked him, they made him an officer. He bore the honor gravely and with no untoward conceit, as though it were only his due. But the planters' ladies and the planters' slaves could not overlook the fact that he was not born a gentleman, even if their men folks could._

_In the beginning, the Troop had been recruited exclusively from the sons of planters, agentleman's outfit, each man supplying his own horse, arms, equipment, uniform and body servant. But rich planters were few in the young county of Clayton, and, in order to muster a full-strength troop, it had been necessary to raise more recruits among the sons of small farmers, hunters in the backwoods, swamp trappers, Crackers and, in a very few cases, even poor whites, if they were above the average of their class._

_These latter young men were as anxious to fight the Yankees, should war come, as were their richer neighbors; but the delicate question of money arose. Few small farmers owned horses. They carried on their farm operations with mules and they had no surplus of these, seldom more than four. The mules could not be spared to go off to war, even if they had been acceptable for the Troop, which they emphatically were not. As for the poor whites, they considered themselves well off if they owned one mule. The backwoods folks and the swamp dwellers owned neither horses nor mules. They lived entirely off the produce of their lands and the game in the swamp, conducting their business generally by the barter system and seldom seeing five dollars in cash a year, and horses and uniforms were out of their reach. But they were as fiercely proud in their poverty as the planters were in their wealth, and they would accept nothing that smacked of charity from their rich neighbors. So, to save the feelings of all and to bring the Troop up to full strength, Eugenia's father, Clarence Montgomery's, Rob Wiscomb, Marty Babcock, David Thockermorton, in fact every large planter in the County with the one exception of Furgus MacDurby, had contributed money to completely outfit the Troop, horse and man. The upshot of the matter was that every planter agreed to pay for equipping his own sons and a certain number of the others, but the manner of handling the arrangements was such that the less wealthy members of the outfit could accept horses and uniforms without offense to their honor._

_The Troop met twice a week in Jonesboro to drill and to pray for the war to begin. Arrangements had not yet been completed for obtaining the full quota of horses, but those who had horses performed what they imagined to be cavalry maneuvers in the field behind the courthouse, kicked up a great deal of dust, yelled themselves hoarse and waved the Revolutionary-war swords that had been taken down from parlor walls. Those who, as yet, had no horses sat on the curb in front of Bullard's store and watched their mounted comrades, chewed tobacco and told yarns. Or else engaged in shooting matches. There was no need to teach any of the men to shoot. Most Southerners were born with guns in their hands, and lives spent in hunting had made marksmen of them all._

_From planters' homes and swamp cabins, a varied array of firearms came to each muster. There were long squirrel guns that had been new when first the Alleghenies were crossed, old muzzle-loaders that had claimed many an Indian when Georgia was new, horse pistols that had seen service in 1812, in the Seminole wars and in Mexico, silver-mounted dueling pistols, pocket derringers, double- barreled hunting pieces and handsome new rifles of English make with shining stocks of fine wood._

_Drill always ended in the saloons of Jonesboro, and by nightfall so many fights had broken out that the officers were hard put to ward off casualties until the Yankees could inflict them. It was during one of these brawls that Stuart Tarleton had shot Cade Calvert and Benny Banks had shot Edward. The twins had been at home, freshly expelled from the University of Virginia, at the time the Troop was organized and they had joined enthusiastically; but after the shooting episode, two months ago, their mother had packed them off to the state university, with orders to stay there. They had sorely missed the excitement of the drills while away, and they counted education well lost if only they could ride and yell and shoot off rifles in the company of their friends._

"_Well, let's cut across country to Barney's," suggested Edward. "We can go through Mr. Rotchford's river bottom and the Banks' pasture and get there in no time."_

"_We ain' gwine git nothin' ter eat 'cept possum an' greens," argued Stewie._

"_You ain't going to get anything," grinned Walter. "Because you are going home and tell Ma that we won't be home for supper."_

"_No, Ah ain'!" cried Stewie in alarm. "No, Ah ain'! Ah doan git no mo' fun outer havin' Miss Augustine lay me out dan y'all does. Fust place she'll ast me huccome Ah let y'all git expelled agin. An' nex' thing, huccome Ah din' bring y'all home ternight so she could lay you out. An' den she'll light on me lak a duck on a June bug, an' fust thing Ah know Ah'll be ter blame_

_fer it all. Ef y'all doan tek me ter Mist' Winders', Ah'll lay out in de woods all night an' maybe de patterollers git me, 'cause Ah heap ruther de patterollers git me dan Miss Augustine when she in a state."_

_The twins looked at the determined black boy in perplexity and indignation._

"_He'd be just fool enough to let the patterollers get him and that would give Ma something else to talk about for weeks. I swear, darkies are more trouble. Sometimes I think the Abolitionists have got the right idea."_

"_Well, it wouldn't be right to make Jeems face what we don't want to face. We'll have to take him. But, look, you impudent black fool, if you put on any airs in front of the Winters' darkies and hint that we all the time have fried chicken and ham, while they don't have nothing but rabbit and possum, I'll-I'll tell Ma. And we won't let you go to the war with us, either."_

"_Airs? Me put on airs fo' dem cheap niggers? Nawsuh, Ah got better manners. Ain' Miss Augustine taught me manners same as she taught y'all?"_

"_She didn't do a very good job on any of the three of us," said Walter. "Come on, let's get going."_

_He backed his big red horse and then, putting spurs to his side, lifted him easily over the split rail fence into the soft field of Thomas Rotchford plantation. Edward's horse followed and then Stewie's, with Jeems clinging to pommel and mane. Stewie did not like to jump fences, but he had jumped higher ones than this in order to keep up with his masters._

_As they picked their way across the red furrows and down the hill to the river bottom in the deepening dusk, Edward yelled to his brother:_

"_Look, Wally! Don't it seem like to you that Eugenia WOULD have asked us to supper?"_

"_I kept thinking she would," yelled Walter. "Why do you suppose . . ."_

_..._

_When the twins left Eugenia standing on the porch of Tessa and the last sound of flying hooves had died away, she went back to her chair like a sleepwalker. Her face felt stiff as from pain and her mouth actually hurt from having stretched it, unwillingly, in smiles to prevent the twins from learning her secret. She sat down wearily, tucking one foot under her, and her heart swelled up with misery, until it felt too large for her bosom. It beat with odd little jerks; her hands were cold, and a feeling of disaster oppressed her. There were pain and bewilderment in her face, the bewilderment of a pampered child who has always had her own way for the asking and who now, for the first time, was in contact with the unpleasantness of life._

_Daniel to marry Amelia Tippett!_

_Oh, it couldn't be true! The twins were mistaken. They were playing one of their jokes on her. Daniel couldn't, couldn't be in love with her. Nobody could, not with a mousy little person like Amelia. Eugenia recalled with contempt Amelia's thin childish figure, her serious heart-shaped face that was plain almost to homeliness. And Daniel couldn't have seen her in months. He hadn't been in Atlanta more than twice since the house party he gave last year at Twelve Oaks. No, Daniel couldn't be in love with Amelia, because-oh, she couldn't be mistaken!-because he was in love with her! She, Eugenia, was the one he loved- she knew it!_

_Eugenia heard Nan's lumbering tread shaking the floor of the hall and she hastily untucked her foot and tried to rearrange her face in more placid lines. It would never do for Nan to suspect that anything was wrong. Nan felt that she owned the Rotchford, body and soul, that their secrets were her secrets; and even a hint of a mystery was enough to set her upon the trail as relentlessly as a bloodhound. Scarlett knew from experience that, if Nan's curiosity were not immediately satisfied, she would take up the matter with Alice, and then Eugenia would be forced to reveal everything to her mother, or think up some plausible lie._

_Nan emerged from the hall, a huge old woman with the small, shrewd eyes of an elephant. She was shining black, pure African, devoted to her last drop of blood to the Austen's, Alice's mainstay, the despair of her three daughters, the terror of the other house servants. Nan was black, but her code of conduct and her sense of pride were as high as or higher than those of her owners. She had been raised in the bedroom of Antoinette Duchard, Alice Austen's mother, a dainty, cold, high-nosed French-woman, who spared neither her children nor her servants their just punishment for any infringement of decorum. She had been Alice's nan and had come with her from Savannah to the up-country when she married. Whom Nan loved, she chastened. And, as her love for Eugenia and her pride inher were enormous, the chastening process was practically continuous._

"_Is de gempmum gone? Huccome you din' ast dem ter stay fer supper, Miss Eugenia? Ah done tole Howie ter lay two extry plates fer dem. Whar's yo' manners?"_

"_Oh, I was so tired of hearing them talk about the war that I couldn't have endured it through supper, especially with Daddy joining in and shouting about Mr. Lincoln."_

"_You ain' got no mo' manners dan a fe'el han', an' after Miss Alice an' me done labored wid you. An' hyah you is widout yo' shawl! An' de night air fixin' ter set in! Ah done tole you an' tole you 'bout gittin' fever frum settin' in de night air wid nuthin' on yo' shoulders. Come on in de house, Miss Eugenia."_

_Scarlett turned away from Nan with studied nonchalance, thankful that her face had been unnoticed in Nan's preoccupation with the matter of the shawl._

"_No, I want to sit here and watch the sunset. It's so pretty. You run get my shawl. Please, Nan, and I'll sit here till Daddy comes home."_

"_Yo' voice soun' lak you catchin' a cole," said Nan suspiciously._

"_Well, I'm not," said Eugenia impatiently. "You fetch me my shawl."_

_Nan waddled back into the hall and Eugenia heard her call softly up the stairwell to the upstairs maid._

"_You, Maggie! Drap me Miss Eugenia's shawl." Then, more loudly: "Wuthless nigger! She ain' never whar she does nobody no good. Now, Ah got ter climb up an' git it mahseff."_

_Scarlett heard the stairs groan and she got softly to her feet. When Mammy returned she would resume her lecture on Scarlett's breach of hospitality, and Scarlett felt that she could not endure prating about such a trivial matter when her heart was breaking. As she stood, hesitant, wondering where she could hide until the ache in her breast subsided a little, a thought came to her, bringing a small ray of hope. Her father had ridden over to Oakfield, the Montgomery plantation, that afternoon to offer to buy Lori, the broad wife of his valet, Howie. Lori was head woman and midwife at Oakfield, and, since the marriage six months ago, Howie had deviled his master night and day to buy Dilcey, so the two could live on the same plantation. That afternoon, Thomas, his resistance worn thin, had set out to make an offer for Lori._

_Surely, thought Eugenia, Daddy will know whether this awful story is true. Even if he hasn't actually heard anything this afternoon, perhaps he's noticed something, sensed some excitement in the Wilkes family. If I can just see him privately before supper, perhaps I'll find out the truth-that it's just one of the twins' nasty practical jokes._

_It was time for Thomas' return and, if she expected to see him alone, there was nothing for her to do except meet him where the driveway entered the road. She went quietly down the front steps, looking carefully over her shoulder to make sure Nan was not observing her from the upstairs windows. Seeing no broad black face, turbaned in snowy white, peering disapprovingly from between fluttering curtains, she boldly snatched up her green flowered skirts and sped down the path toward the driveway as fast as her small ribbon-laced slippers would carry her._

_The dark cedars on either side of the graveled drive met in an arch overhead, turning the long avenue into a dim tunnel. As soon as she was beneath the gnarled arms of the cedars, she knew she was safe from observation from the house and she slowed her swift pace. She was panting, for her stays were laced too tightly to permit much running, but she walked on a rapidly as she could. Soon she was at the end of the driveway and out on the main road, but she did not stop until she had rounded a curve that put a large clump of trees between herand the house._

_Flushed and breathing hard, she sat down on a stump to wait for her father. It was past time for him to come home, but she was glad that he was late. The delay would give her time to quiet her breathing and calm her face so that his suspicions would not be aroused. Every moment she expected to hear the pounding of his horse's hooves and see him come charging up the hill at his usual breakneck speed. But the minutes slipped by and Gerald did not come. She looked down the road for him, the pain in her heart swelling up again._

"_Oh, it can't be true!" she thought. "Why doesn't he come?"_

_Her eyes followed the winding road, blood-red now after the morning rain. In her thought she traced its course as it ran down the hill to the sluggish Flint River, through the tangled swampy bottoms and up the next hill to Oakfield where Daniel lived. That was all the road meant now-a road to Ashley and the beautiful white-columned house that crowned the hill like a Greek Temple._

"_Oh, Daniel! Daniel!" she thought, and her heart beat faster._

_Some of the cold sense of bewilderment and disaster that had weighted her down since the Babcock boys told her their gossip was pushed into the background of her mind, and in its place crept the fever that had possessed her for two years._

_It seemed strange now that when she was growing up Daniel had never seemed so very attractive to her. In childhood days, she had seen him come and go and never given him a thought. But since that day two years ago when Daniel, newly home from his three years' Grand Tour in Europe, had called to pay his respects, she had loved him. It was as simple as that._

_She had been on the front porch and he had ridden up the long avenue, dressed in gray broadcloth with a wide black cravat setting off his frilled shirt to perfection. Even now, shecould recall each detail of his dress, how brightly his boots shone, the head of a Medusa in cameo on his cravat pin, the wide Panama hat that was instantly in his hand when he saw her. He had alighted and tossed his bridle reins to a pickaninny and stood looking up at her, his drowsy gray eyes wide with a smile and the sun so bright on his blond hair that it seemed like a cap of shining silver. And he said, "So you've grown up, Eugenia." And, coming lightly up the steps, he had kissed her hand. And his voice! She would never forget the leap of her heart as she heard it, as if for the first time, drawling, resonant, musical. _

_She had wanted him, in that first instant, wanted him as simply and unreasoningly as she wanted food to eat, horses to ride and a soft bed on which to lay herself._

_For two years he had squired her about the County, to balls, fish fries, picnics and court days, never so often as the Tarleton twins or Sid Throckermort, never so importunate as the younger Fontaine boys, but, still, never the week went by that Daniel did not come calling at Tessa. True, he never made love to her, nor did the clear gray eyes ever glow with that hot light Scarlett knew so well in other men. And yet-and yet-she knew he loved her. She could not be mistaken about it. Instinct stronger than reason and knowledge born of experience told her that he loved her. Too often she had surprised him when his eyes were neither drowsy nor remote, when he looked at her with a yearning and a sadness which puzzled her. She KNEW he loved her. Why did he not tell her so? That she could not understand. But there were so many things about him that she did not understand._

_He was courteous always, but aloof, remote. No one could ever tell what he was thinking about, Scarlett least of all. In a neighborhood where everyone said exactly what he thought as soon as he thought it, Daniel's quality of reserve was exasperating. He was as proficient as any of the other young men in the usual County diversions, hunting, gambling, dancing and politics, and was the best rider of them all; but he differed from all the rest in that these pleasant activities were not the end and aim of life to him. And he stood alone in his interest in books and music and his fondness for writing poetry._

_Oh, why was he so handsomely blond, so courteously aloof, so maddeningly boring with his talk about Europe and books and music and poetry and things that interested her not at all- and yet so desirable? Night after night, when Eugeniawent to bed after sitting on the front porch in the semi-darkness with him, she tossed restlessly for hours and comforted herself only with the thought that the very next time he saw her he certainly would propose. But the next time came and went, and the result was nothing-nothing except that the fever possessing her rose higher and hotter._

_She loved him and she wanted him and she did not understand him. She was as forthright and simple as the winds that blew over Tara and the yellow river that wound about it, and to the end of her days she would never be able to understand a complexity. And now, for the first time in her life, she was facing a complex nature._

_For Daniel was born of a line of men who used their leisure for thinking, not doing, forspinning brightly colored dreams that had in them no touch of reality. He moved in an inner world that was more beautiful than Georgia and came back to reality with reluctance. He looked on people, and he neither liked nor disliked them. He looked on life and was neither heartened nor saddened. He accepted the universe and his place in it for what they were and, shrugging, turned to his music and books and his better world._

_Why he should have captivated Eugenia when his mind was a stranger to hers she did not know. The very mystery of him excited her curiosity like a door that had neither lock nor key. The things about him which she could not understand only made her love him more, and his odd, restrained courtship only served to increase her determination to have him for her own. That he would propose some day she had never doubted, for she was too young and too spoiled ever to have known defeat. And now, like a thunderclap, had come this horrible news. Daniel to marry Amelia! It couldn't be true!_

_Why, only last week, when they were riding home at twilight from Fairhill, he had said: "Eugenia, I have something so important to tell you that I hardly know how to say it." She had cast down her eyes demurely, her heart beating with wild pleasure, thinking the happy moment had come. Then he had said: "Not now! We're nearly home and there isn't time. Oh, Eugenia, what a coward I am!" And putting spurs to his horse, he had raced her up the hill to Tessa._

_Eugenia, sitting on the stump, thought of those words which had made her so happy, and suddenly they took on another meaning, a hideous meaning. Suppose it was the news of his engagement he had intended to tell her!_

_Oh, if Daddy would only come home! She could not endure the suspense another moment. She looked impatiently down the road again, and again she was disappointed._

_The sun was now below the horizon and the red glow at the rim of the world faded into pink. The sky above turned slowly from azure to the delicate blue-green of a robin's egg, and the unearthly stillness of rural twilight came stealthily down about her. Shadowy dimness crept over the countryside. The red furrows and the gashed red road lost their magical blood color and became plain brown earth. Across the road, in the pasture, the horses, mules and cows stood quietly with heads over the split-rail fence, waiting to be driven to the stables and supper. They did not like the dark shade of the thickets hedging the pasture creek, and they twitched their ears at Scarlett as if appreciative of human companionship._

_In the strange half-light, the tall pines of the river swamp, so warmly green in the sunshine, were black against the pastel sky, an impenetrable row of black giants hiding the slow yellow water at their feet. On the hill across the river, the tall white chimneys of the Wilkes' home faded gradually into the darkness of the thick oaks surrounding them, and only far-off pin points of supper lamps showed that a house was here. The warm damp balminess of spring encompassed her sweetly with the moist smells of new-plowed earth and all the fresh green things pushing up to the air._

_Sunset and spring and new-fledged greenery were no miracle to Scarlett. Their beauty she accepted as casually as the air she breathed and the water she drank, for she had never consciously seen beauty in anything but women's faces, horses, silk dresses and like tangible things. Yet the serene half-light over Tara's well-kept acres brought a measure of quiet to her disturbed mind. She loved this land so much, without even knowing she loved it, loved it as she loved her mother's face under the lamp at prayer time._

_She was tired of this._

_'I'll just meet Daddy along the way,' Eugenia thougt as she began making her way down the driveway._

_Eugenia walked along the path to the Mon__t__gomery's house, trying to meet her father along the way. She kept looking at the ground and how Daniel Montgomery was in love with her. She wasn't paying attention to where she was going and she ran into someone, knocking them both to the ground._

_"Oh, dear, I'm __s__o sorry, sir," said Eugenia, picking herself off and dusting off the frilly white skirt of her dress. She looked at the handsome man, who picked himself with a cow._

_"Would you watch where you're going, you filthy mortal," he spat._

_"I beg your pardon!" Eugenia snapped. "Who do you think you are?!"_

_"I am Loki of Asgard," said the man._

_As they picked their way across the red furrows and down the hill to the river bottom in the_

_Eugenia's face turned into a look of understanding._

_"Oh," she said. "A foreigner. Where is Asgard? I don't believe I've heard of that country.__ Are you someone's kin?__"_

_"Asgard isn't a country, it's one of the nine realms," he snapped harshly.__ "And no, I'm not anybody's 'kin,' whatever that is._

_Eugenia gave him an odd look._

_"If your from another realm, what are you doing here?" Eugenia asked._

_"I tried to take over Midgard and-" he sarted, but Eugenia cut him off._

_"Midgard?" Eugenia questioned._

_"It is as you call it Earth," he clarified. "I was sent here in order and work my way up to when I attacked, to see if I could change my actions when the time came."_

_"Do you need a place to stay?" Eugenia asked. "I know a woman who will take you in."_

_"I do not require assistance," Loki said icily._

_"Really?" Eugenia asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're all alone in an unfamiliar place with no family, no friends, and no home, and I'm offering to take you to a woman who will let you stay with her for free and you say you don't need assistance."_

_Loki thought for a moment before nodding._

_"Take me to this woman," he commanded._

_Eugenia smiled triumphently._

_"Come with me," said Eugenia said motioning for Loki to follow her. "I don't believe you know my name. I'm Victoria Eugenia Austen. But everyone just calls me Eugenia, except for Daddy."_

_Loki took Eugenia's hand and kissed it._

_"Thank you for your kindness, Lady Eugenia," he said stiffly._

_"If you're going to stay here, you need a more normal name," said Eugenia as they began walking in the opposite direction. "I'm thinking Lucas Porter."_

_"That constitutes as a normal name?" Loki asked._

_Eugenia rolled her eyes._

_"Mrs. Woodbridge is sure to take you in," said Eugenia. "We'll say your her nephew from London. It'll be like her having a child. She's always wanted a child, but she's never been able to. Now that Mr. Woodbridge is gone, she's all alone. I think it'll be nice for her to have some company around the house. She's a kind woman. One of the few women in the county who's kind to me."_

_"Why may I ask is she one of the few?" Loki asked curiausly._

_"All of the other women accuse me of stealing their beaux," said Eugenia carelessly. "Even my own sister, Emmabeth, doesn't like me because she's accused me of flirting with her beau, Henry Grigsby."_

_There was a moment of silence._

_"I'll talk to Harriet Wainwright about getting you a reputation," said Eugenia. "A scandalous one preferably. That way everyone will know you at the barbecue tomorrow."_

_"Barbecue?" Loki raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"_

_"You don't know what a barbecue is?" Eugenia gasped._

_Loki shook his head. Eugenia gasped again._

_"Why, it's a lunch and dinner basically," said Eugenia._

_"And how do you know I'll be there?" Loki pressed._

_"Mrs. Woodbridge is going to be there," said Eugenia. "If Mrs. Woodbridge takes you in, she'll most definately take you with her."_

_They reached an opulant white manor that was just down the road from Tessa._

_"Welcome to Yelvington Plantation," Eugenia said._

_Eugenia led Loki up the dirt path up to the house and she knocked on the door and a slave opened the door._

_"Hello, Nora," said Eugenia. "Is Mrs. Woodbridge home?"_

_Nora nodded._

_"Miss Lily!" Nora called. "Miss Eugenia Austen is here!"_

_A plump woman with white hair amd kind grey eyes walked down the stairs and smiled at Eugenia._

_"Eugenia, my darling," said with a faint British accent._

_"Hello, Mrs. Woodbridge," said Eugenia as she embraced the older woman. "I have a favor I musy ask of you."_

_"Of course, Eugenia," said Mrs. Woodbridge. "Let's discuss it in the drawing room."_

_Mrs. Woodbridge and Eugenia walked into the drawing room and Mrs. Woodbridge motioned for Loki and Eugenia to sit down._

_"Now, dear, what is this favor you want?" Mrs. Woodbridge asked._

_Eugenia told Mrs. Woodbridge what Loki told her about attempting to take over earth and now how he had the chance to correct his wrongs._

_"So, Mrs. Woodbridge, I was thinking that maybe you can take him in," said Eugenia. "We'll say he's your nephew from London. I've given him the name Lucas Porter."_

_Mrs. Woodbridge thought for a moment before nodding._

_"You may stay here," said. She turned her head to the door. "Nora, please come here and show Mrs. Porter to his room."_

_Loki smiled the first genuine smile Eugenia had seen him give._

_"Thank you, Mrs. Woodbridge," he said._

_..._

_Eugenia went back home and resumed sitting on the porch. Still there was no sign of Thomas on the quiet winding road. If she had to wait much longer, Nan would certainly come in search of her and bully her into the house. She would already be in enough trouble with Nan if Nan knew she had left._

_'Daddy's still not home yet?' Eugenia thought annoyed. 'How much time can you spen over at somebody's house?'_

_But even as she strained her eyes down the darkening road, she heard a pounding of hooves at the bottom of the pasture hill and saw the horses and cows scatter in fright. Thomas Rotchford was coming home across country and at top speed._

_He came up the hill at a gallop on his thick-barreled, long-legged hunter, appearing in the distance like a boy on a too large horse. His long white hair standing out behind him, he urged the horse forward with crop and loud cries._

_Filled with her own anxieties, she nevertheless watched him with affectionate pride, for Thomas was an excellent horseman._

"_I wonder why he always wants to jump fences when he's had a few drinks," she thought. "And after that fall he had right here last year when he broke his knee. You'd think he'd learn. Especially when he promised Ma on oath he'd never jump again."_

_Eugenia had no awe of her father and felt him more her contemporary than her sisters, for jumping fences and keeping it a secret from his wife gave him a boyish pride and guilty glee that matched her own pleasure in outwitting Nan. She rose from her seat to watch him._

_The big horse reached the fence, gathered himself and soared over as effortlessly as a bird, his rider yelling enthusiastically, his crop beating the air, his white curls jerking out behind him. Thomas did not see his daughter in the shadow of the trees, and he drew rein in the road, patting his horse's neck with approbation._

"_There's none in the County can touch you, nor in the state," he informed his mount, with pride, the brogue of County Meath still heavy on his tongue in spite of thirty-nine years in America. Then he hastily set about smoothing his hair and settling his ruffled shirt and his cravat which had slipped awry behind one ear. Eugenia knew these hurried preenings were being made with an eye toward meeting his wife with the appearance of a gentleman who had ridden sedately home from a call on a neighbor. She knew also that he was presenting her with just the opportunity she wanted for opening the conversation without revealing her true purpose._

_She laughed aloud. As she had intended, Thomas was startled by the sound; then he recognized her, and a look both sheepish and defiant came over his florid face. Hedismounted with difficulty, because his knee was stiff, and, slipping the reins over his arm, stumped toward her._

"_Well, Missy," he said, pinching her cheek, "so, you've been spying on me and, like your sister Emmabeth last week, you'll be telling your mother on me?"_

_There was indignation in his hoarse bass voice but also a wheedling note, and Eugenia teasingly clicked her tongue against her teeth as she reached out to pull his cravat into place. His breath in her face was strong with Bourbon whisky mingled with a faint fragrance of mint. Accompanying him also were the smells of chewing tobacco, well-oiled leather and horses-a combination of odors that she always associated with her father and instinctively liked in other men._

"_No, Daddy, I'm no tattletale like Emmabeth," she assured him, standing off to view his rearranged attire with a judicious air._

_Thomas was a small man, little more than five feet tall, but so heavy of barrel and thick of neck that his appearance, when seated, led strangers to think him a larger man. His thickset torso was supported by short sturdy legs, always incased in the finest leather boots procurable and always planted wide apart like a swaggering small boy's. Most small people who take themselves seriously are a little ridiculous; but the bantam cock is respected in the barnyard, and so it was with Thomas. No one would ever have the temerity to think of Thomas Rotchford as a ridiculous little figure._

_He was sixty years old and his crisp curly hair was silver-white, but his shrewd face was unlined and his hard little blue eyes were young with the unworried youthfulness of one who has never taxed his brain with problems more abstract than how many cards to draw in a poker game. His was as Irish a face as could be found in the length and breadth of the homeland he had left so long ago-round, high colored, short nosed, wide mouthed and belligerent._

_Beneath his choleric exterior Thomas had the tenderest of hearts. He could not bear to see a slave pouting under a reprimand, no matter how well deserved, or hear a kitten mewing or a child crying; but he had a horror of having this weakness discovered. That everyone who met him did discover his kindly heart within five minutes was unknown to him; and his vanity would have suffered tremendously if he had found it out, for he liked to think that when he bawled orders at the top of his voice everyone trembled and obeyed. It had never occurred to him that only one voice was obeyed on the plantation-the soft voice of his wife Alice. It was a secret he would never learn, for everyone from Alice down to the stupidest field hand was in a tacit and kindly conspiracy to keep him believing that his word was law._

_Eugenia was impressed less than anyone else by his tempers and his roarings. She was his oldest child and, now that Thomas knew there would be no more sons to follow the three who lay in the family burying ground, he had drifted into a habit of treating her in a man-to-manmanner which she found most pleasant. She was more like her father than her younger sisters, for Mary Cate, who had been born Marianne Catherine (Catherine after her grandmother), was delicate and dreamy, and Emmabeth, christened Emily Elizabeth, prided herself on her elegance and ladylike deportment._

_Moreover, Eugenia and her father were bound together by a mutual suppression agreement. If Thomas caught her climbing a fence instead of walking half a mile to a gate, or sitting too late on the front steps with a beau, he castigated her personally and with vehemence, but he did not mention the fact to Alice or to Nan. And when Eugenia discovered him jumping fences after his solemn promise to his wife, or learned the exact amount of his losses at poker, as she always did from County gossip, she refrained from mentioning the fact at the supper table in the artfully artless manner Emmabeth had. Eugenia and her father each assured the other solemnly that to bring such matters to the ears of Alice would only hurt her, and nothing would induce them to wound her gentleness._

_Eugenia looked at her father in the fading light, and, without knowing why, she found it comforting to be in his presence. There was something vital and earthy and coarse about him that appealed to her. Being the least analytic of people, she did not realize that this was because she possessed in some degree these same qualities, despite sixteen years of effort on the part of Alice and Nan to obliterate them._

"_You look very presentable now," she said, "and I don't think anyone will suspect you've been up to your tricks unless you brag about them. But it does seem to me that after you broke your knee last year, jumping that same fence-"_

"_Well, may I be damned if I'll have me own daughter telling me what I shall jump and not jump," he shouted, giving her cheek another pinch. "It's me own neck, so it is. And besides, Missy, what are you doing out here without your shawl?"_

_Seeing that he was employing familiar maneuvers to extricate himself from unpleasant conversation, she slipped her arm through his and said: "I was waiting for you. I didn't know you would be so late. I just wondered if you had bought Lori."_

"_Bought her I did, and the price has ruined me. Bought her and her little wench, Dinah. Clarence Montgomery was for almost giving them away, but never will I have it said that Thomas Rotchford used friendship in a trade. I made him take three thousand for the two of them."_

"_In the name of Heaven, Daddt, three thousand! And you didn't need to buy Dinah!"_

"_Has the time come when me own daughters sit in judgment on me?" shouted Thomas rhetorically. "Dinah is a likely little wench and so-"_

"_I know her. She's a sly, stupid creature," Eugenua rejoined calmly, unimpressed by his uproar. "And the only reason you bought her was because Lori asked you to buy her."_

_Thomas looked crestfallen and embarrassed, as always when caught in a kind deed, and Eugenia laughed outright at his transparency._

"_Well, what if I did? Was there any use buying Lori if she was going to mope about the child? Well, never again will I let a darky on this place marry off it. It's too expensive. Well, come on, Puss, let's go in to supper."_

_The shadows were falling thicker now, the last greenish tinge had left the sky and a slight chill was displacing the balminess of spring. But Scarlett loitered, wondering how to bring up the subject of Daniel without permitting Thomas to suspect her motive. This was difficult, for Eugenia had not a subtle bone in her body; and Thomas was so much like her he never failed to penetrate her weak subterfuges, even as she penetrated his. And he was seldom tactful in doing it._

"_How are they all over at Oakfield?"_

"_About as usual. Sid Throckermort was there and, after I settled about Dilcey, we all set on the gallery and had several toddies. Sid has just come from Atlanta, and it's all upset they are there and talking war and-"_

_Eugenia sighed. If Thomas once got on the subject of war and secession, it would be hours before he relinquished it. She broke in with another line._

"_Did they say anything about the barbecue tomorrow?"_

"_Now that I think of it they did. Miss-what's-her-name-the sweet little thing who was here last year, you know, Daniel's cousin-oh, yes, Miss Amelia Tippett, that's the name-she and her brother Adam have already come from Atlanta and-"_

"_Oh, so she did come?"_

"_She did, and a sweet quiet thing she is, with never a word to say for herself, like a woman should be. Come now, daughter, don't lag. Your mother will be hunting for us." _

_Eugenia's heart sank at the news. She had hoped against hope that something would keep Amelia Tippett in Atlanta where she belonged, and the knowledge that even her father approved of her sweet quiet nature, so different from her own, forced her into the open._

"_Was Daniel there, too?"_

"_He was." Thomas let go of his daughter's arm and turned, peering sharply into her face. "And if that's why you came out here to wait for me, why didn't you say so without beating around the bush?"_

_Eugenia could think of nothing to say, and she felt her face growing red with annoyance."Well, speak up."_

_Still she said nothing, wishing that it was permissible to shake one's father and tell him to hush his mouth._

"_He was there and he asked most kindly after you, as did his sisters, and said they hoped nothing would keep you from the barbecue tomorrow. I'll warrant nothing will," he said shrewdly. "And now, daughter, what's all this about you and Daniel?"_

"_There is nothing," she said shortly, tugging at his arm. "Let's go in, Daddy."_

"_So now 'tis you wanting to go in," he observed. "But here I'm going to stand till I'm understanding you. Now that I think of it, 'tis strange you've been recently. Has he been trifling with you? Has he asked to marry you?"_

"_No," she said shortly._

"_Nor will he," said Thomas._

_Fury flamed in her, but Thomas waved her quiet with a hand._

"_Hold your tongue, Miss! I had it from Clarence Montgomery this afternoon in the strictest confidence that Daniel's to marry Miss Amelia. It's to be announced tomorrow."_

_Scarlett's hand fell from his arm. So it was true!_

_A pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild animal's fangs. Through it all, she felt her father's eyes on her, a little pitying, a little annoyed at being faced with a problem for which he knew no answer. He loved Eugenia, but it made him uncomfortable to have her forcing her childish problems on him for a solution. Alice knew all the answers. Eugenia should have taken her troubles to her._

"_Is it a spectacle you've been making of yourself-of all of us?" he bawled, his voice rising as always in moments of excitement. "Have you been running after a man who's not in love with you, when you could have any of the bucks in the County?"_

_Anger and hurt pride drove out some of the pain._

"_I haven't been running after him. It-it just surprised me."_

"_It's lying you are!" said Eugenia, and then, peering at her stricken face, he added in a burst of kindliness: "I'm sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but a child and there's lots of other beaux."_

"_Ma was only fifteen when she married you, and I'm sixteen," said Eugenia, her voicemuffled._

"_Your mother was different," said Thomas. "She was never flighty like you. Now come, daughter, cheer up, and I'll take you to Charleston next week to visit your Aunt Margaurite and, what with all the hullabaloo they are having over there about Fort Sumter, you'll be forgetting about Daniel in a week."_

"_He thinks I'm a child," thought Eugenia, grief and anger choking utterance, "and he's only got to dangle a new toy and I'll forget my bumps."_

"_Now, don't be jerking your chin at me," warned Thomas. "If you had any sense you'd have married Walter or Edward Babcock long ago. Think it over, daughter. Marry one of the twins and then the plantations will run together and Marty Babcock and I will build you a fine house, right where they join, in that big pine grove and-"_

"_Will you stop treating me like a child!" cried Eugenia. "I don't want to go to Charleston or have a house or marry the twins. I only want-" She caught herself but not in time._

_Thomas' voice was strangely quiet and he spoke slowly as if drawing his words from a store of thought seldom used._

"_It's only Daniel you're wanting, and you'll not be having him. And if he wanted to marry you, 'twould be with misgivings that I'd say Yes, for all the fine friendship that's between me and Clarence Montgomery." And, seeing her startled look, he continued: "I want my girl to be happy and you wouldn't be happy with him."_

"_Oh, I would! I would!"_

"_That you would not, daughter. Only when like marries like can there be any happiness."_

_Eugenia had a sudden treacherous desire to cry out, "But you've been happy, and you and Ma aren't alike," but she repressed it, fearing that he would box her ears for her impertinence._

"_Our people and the Montgomery's are different," he went on slowly, fumbling for words. "The Montgomery's are different from any of our neighbors-different from any family I ever knew. They are queer folk, and it's best that they marry their cousins and keep their queerness to themselves."_

"_Why, Daddy, Daniel is not-"_

"_Hold your whist, Puss! I said nothing against the lad, for I like him. And when I say queer, it's not crazy I'm meaning. He's not queer like the Throckermort's who'd gamble everything they have on a horse, or the Babcock's who turn out a drunkard or two in every litter, or the Fontaines who are hot-headed little brutes and after murdering a man for a fancied kind of queerness is easy to understand, for sure, and but for the grace of God Thomas Rotchford would be having all those faults! And I don't mean that would run off with another woman, if you were his wife, or beat you. You'd be happier if he did, for at least you'd be understanding that. But he's queer in other ways, and there's no understanding him at all. I like him, but it's neither heads nor tails I can make of most he says. Now, Puss, tell me true, do you understand his folderol about books and poetry and music and oil paintings and such foolishness?"_

"_Oh, Daddy," cried Eugenia impatiently, "if I married him, I'd change all that!"_

"_Oh, you would, would you now?" said Thomas testily, shooting a sharp look at her. "Then it's little enough you are knowing of any man living, let alone Daniel. No wife has ever changed a husband one whit, and don't you be forgetting that. And as for changing a Montgomery's-God's nightgown, daughter! The whole family is that way, and they've always been that way. And probably always will. I tell you they're born queer. Look at the way they go tearing up to New York and Boston to hear operas and see oil paintings. And ordering French and German books by the crate from the Yankees! And there they sit reading and dreaming the dear God knows what, when they'd be better spending their time hunting and playing poker as proper men should."_

"_There's nobody in the County sits a horse better than Daniel," said Eugenia, furious at the slur of effeminacy flung on Daniel, "nobody except maybe his father. And as for poker, didn't Ashley take two hundred dollars away from you just last week in Jonesboro?"_

"_The Throckermort boys have been blabbing again," Thomas said resignedly, "else you'd not be knowing the amount. Daniel can ride with the best and play poker with the best-that's me, Puss! And I'm not denying that when he sets out to drink he can put even the Babcock's under the table. He can do all those things, but his heart's not in it. That's why I say he's queer."_

_Eugenia was silent and her heart sank. She could think of no defense for this last, for she knew Thomas was right. Daniel's heart was in none of the pleasant things he did so well. He was never more than politely interested in any of the things that vitally interested every one else._

_Rightly interpreting her silence, Thomas patted her arm and said triumphantly: "There now, Daniel! You admit 'tis true. What would you be doing with a husband like Daniel? 'Tis moonstruck they all are, all the Montgomery's." And then, in a wheedling tone: "When I was mentioning the Babcock's the while ago, I wasn't pushing them. They're fine lads, but if it's Sid Throckermort you're setting your cap after, why, 'tis the same with me. The Throckermort are good folk, all of them, for all the old man marrying a Yankee. And when I'm gone-Whist, darlin', listen to me! I'll leave Tessa to you and Sid-"_

"_I wouldn't have Sid on a silver tray," cried Eugenia in fury. "And I wish you'd quit pushing him at me! I don't want Tessa or any old plantation. Plantations don't amount toanything when-"_

_She was going to say "when you haven't the man you want," but Thomas, incensed by the cavalier way in which she treated his proffered gift, the thing which, next to Alice, he loved best in the whole world uttered a roar._

"_Do you stand there, Victoria Eugenia Rotchford, and tell me that Tessa-that land-doesn't amount to anything?"_

_Eugenia nodded obstinately. Her heart was too sore to care whether or not she put her father in a temper._

"_Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything," he shouted, his thick, short arms making wide gestures of indignation, "for 'tis the only thing in this world that lasts, and don't you be forgetting it! 'Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for-worth dying for."_

"_Oh, Daddy," she said disgustedly, "you talk like an Irishman!"_

"_Have I ever been ashamed of it? No, 'tis proud I am. And don't be forgetting that you are half Irish, Miss! And to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like their mother. 'Tis ashamed of you I am this minute. I offer you the most beautiful land in the world-saving County Meath in the Old Country-and what do you do? You sniff!"_

_Thomas had begun to work himself up into a pleasurable shouting rage when something in Eugenia's woebegone face stopped him._

"_But there, you're young. 'Twill come to you, this love of land. There's no getting away from it, if you're Irish. You're just a child and bothered about your beaux. When you're older, you'll be seeing how 'tis. . . . Now, do you be making up your mind about Sid or the twins or one of Sam Morrison's young bucks, and see how fine I turn you out!"_

"_Oh, Daddy!"_

_By this time, Thomas was thoroughly tired of the conversation and thoroughly annoyed that the problem should be upon his shoulders. He felt aggrieved, moreover, that Scarlett should still look desolate after being offered the best of the County boys and Tessa, too. Thomas liked his gifts to be received with clapping of hands and kisses._

"_Now, none of your pouts, Miss. It doesn't matter who you marry, as long as he thinks like you and is a gentleman and a Southerner and prideful. For a woman, love comes after marriage."_

"_Oh, Daddy, that's such an Old Country notion!"_

"_And a good notion it is! All this American business of running around marrying for love, like servants, like Yankees! The best marriages are when the parents choose for the girl. For how can a silly piece like yourself tell a good man from a scoundrel? Now, look at the Wilkes. What's kept them prideful and strong all these generations? Why, marrying the likes of themselves, marrying the cousins their family always expects them to marry."_

"_Oh," cried Eugenia, fresh pain striking her as Thomas' words brought home the terrible inevitability of the truth._

_Thomas looked at her bowed head and shuffled his feet uneasily._

"_It's not crying you are?" he questioned, fumbling clumsily at her chin, trying to turn her face upward, his own face furrowed with pity._

"_No," she cried vehemently, jerking away._

"_It's lying you are, and I'm proud of it. I'm glad there's pride in you, Puss. And I want to see pride in you tomorrow at the barbecue. I'll not be having the County gossiping and laughing at you for mooning your heart out about a man who never gave you a thought beyond friendship."_

"_He did give me a thought," thought Eugenia, sorrowfully in her heart. "Oh, a lot of thoughts! I know he did. I could tell. If I'd just had a little longer, I know I could have made him say- Oh, if it only wasn't that the Wilkes always feel that they have to marry their cousins!"_

_Thomas took her arm and passed it through his._

"_We'll be going in to supper now, and all this is between us. I'll not be worrying your mother with this-nor do you do it either. Blow your nose, daughter."_

_Eugenia blew her nose on her torn handkerchief, and they started up the dark drive arm in arm, the horse following slowly. Near the house, Eugenia was at the point of speaking again when she saw her mother in the dim shadows of the porch. She had on her bonnet, shawl and mittens, and behind her was Nan, her face like a thundercloud, holding in her hand the black leather bag in which Alice Rotchford always carried the bandages and medicines she used in doctoring the slaves. Nan's lips were large and pendulous and, when indignant, she could push out her lower one to twice its normal length. It was pushed out now, and Eugenia knew that Nan was seething over something of which she did not approve._

"_Mr. Rotchford," called Alice as she saw the two coming up the driveway-Alice belonged to a generation that was formal even after seventeen years of wedlock and the bearing of six children- "Mr. Rotchford, there is illness at the Clampitt house. Sarah's baby has been born and is dying and must be baptized. I am going there with Nan to see what I can do." Her voice was raised questioningly, as though she hung on Thomas's assent to her plan, a mere formality but one dear to the heart of Thomas._

"_In the name of God!" blustered Thomas. "Why should those white trash take you away just at your supper hour and just when I'm wanting to tell you about the war talk that's going on in Atlanta! Go, Mrs. O'Hara. You'd not rest easy on your pillow the night if there was trouble abroad and you not there to help."_

"_She doan never git no res' on her piller fer hoppin' up at night time nursin' niggers an po' w'ite trash dat could ten' to deyseff," grumbled Nan in a monotone as she went down the stairs toward the carriage which was waiting in the side drive._

"_Take my place at the table, dear," said Alice, patting Eugenia's cheek softly with a mittened hand._

_In spite of her choked-back tears, Eugenia thrilled to the never- failing magic of her mother's touch, to the faint fragrance of lemon verbena sachet that came from her rustling silk dress. To Scarlett, there was something breath-taking about Alice Rotchford, a miracle that lived in the house with her and awed her and charmed and soothed her._

_Thomas helped his wife into the carriage and gave orders to the coachman to drive carefully. Toby, who had handled Thomas' horses for twenty years, pushed out his lips in mute indignation at being told how to conduct his own business. Driving off, with Nan beside him, each was a perfect picture of pouting African disapproval._

"_If I didn't do so much for those trashy Clampitt's that they'd have to pay money for elsewhere," fumed Thomas, "they'd be willing to sell me their miserable few acres of swamp bottom, and the County would be well rid of them." Then, brightening, in anticipation of one of his practical jokes: "Come daughter, let's go tell Howie that instead of buying Lori, I've sold him to Clarence Montgomery."_

_He tossed the reins of his horse to a small pickaninny standing near and started up the steps. He had already forgotten Eugenia's heartbreak and his mind was only on plaguing his valet. Scarlett slowly climbed the steps after him, her feet leaden. She thought that, after all, a mating between herself and Daniel could be no queerer than that of her father and Alice Duchard Rotchford. As always, she wondered how her loud, insensitive father had managed to marry a woman like her mother, for never were two people further apart in birth, breeding and habits of mind._

_Eugenia realized something._

_"Oh, Daddy, I have to go see Harriet Wainwright," Eugenia said urgently. "It's important!"_

_With that, she ran off down the driveway with her father calling, "Victoria Eugenia," behind her._

_..._

_After the talk she had with her father, she went to the house of one of her__, well she wouldn't call her a__ friend__, since Eugenia didn't have very many friends, more of an aquantence__, Harriet Wainwright so Loki would get a reputation._

_Whe she got to Harriet's house, Harriet's mother, Matilda. Matilda gave Eugenia a warm smile._

_"Eugenia, dear," said Matilda kindly. "Are you here to see Harriet?"_

_"Yes, Mrs. Wainwright," said Eugenia smiling. "Is she home?"_

_"Yes, Eugenia, she's in her room," said Matilda. She turned to a slave who was dusting behind her. "Cathy, would you please take Miss Eugenia up to Miss Harriet's room."_

_"Yes, Miss Matilda," said Cathy, motioning Eugenia to follow her._

_Eugenia followed Cathy up the stairs and to Harriet's room._

_"Miss Harriet, Miss Eugenia Austen is here to see you," said Cathy._

_Harriet smiled brightly as Eugenia entered her room._

_"Thank you, Cathy," said Harriet._

_Cathy left the room and Harriet and Eugenia joined their hands and kissed each other's cheeks. They let go and Harriet sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her._

_"Come sit with me," said Harriet._

_Eugenia did as she was told._

_"Now, dear, what is it you need?" Harriet asked._

_"Mrs. Lily Woodbridge's nephew is her from London and there is a problem," said Eugenia._

_Harriet's face turned serious as she looked at Eugenia intensley._

_"And what is that, darling?" Harriet asked._

_"He is without a reputation," said Eugenia. "He needs one, don't you think? Maybe something scandalous?"_

_Harriet grinned._

_"Oh, yes," said Harriet, "I do believe he does."_

_"Do you think he will be able to have one by tomorrow?" Eugenia asked. "For the barbecue?"_

_Harriet's grin widened._

_"Mr. and Mrs. Kenerson are coming over for dinner tonight," said Harriet. "And their daughters Ada and Isabella. Also Mr. and Mrs. Connerton and their daughters, Rebecca, Susan and Rachel. I'm sure he'll have a reputation by tomorrow. And I'm sure it'll be the most scandalous one i the state of Georgia, the most scandalous one in the who Confederacy."_

_Eugenia beamed._

_"Wonderful," she said. She remained quiet for a few moments before standing up. "I should be going."_

_"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Harriet asked._

_"Oh, that's a kind offer," said Eugenia. "But I promised Daddy I'd be home by seven."_

_Eugenia kissed Harriet's cheeks and left the Wainwright house._

_..._

_Alice Rotchford__ was thirty-two years old, and, according to the standards of her day, she was a__middle-aged woman, one who had borne six children and buried three. She was a tall__woman, standing a head higher than her fiery little husband, but she moved with such quiet__grace in her swaying hoops that the height attracted no attention to itself. Her neck, rising__from the black taffeta sheath of her basque, was creamy-skinned, rounded and slender, and it__seemed always tilted slightly backward by the weight of her luxuriant hair in its net at the__back of her head. From her French mother, whose parents had fled Haiti in the Revolution of__1791, had come her slanting dark eyes, shadowed by inky lashes, and her black hair; and from__her father, a soldier of Napoleon, she had her long straight nose and her square-cut jaw that__was softened by the gentle curving of her cheeks. But only from life could__ Alice__'s face have__acquired its look of pride that had no haughtiness, its graciousness, its melancholy and its__utter lack of humor._

_She would have been a strikingly beautiful woman had there been any glow in her eyes, any__responsive warmth in her smile or any spontaneity in her voice that fell with gentle melody__on the ears of her family and her servants. She spoke in the soft slurring voice of the coastal__Georgian, liquid of vowels, kind to consonants and with the barest trace of French accent. It__was a voice never raised in command to a servant or reproof to a child but a voice that was__obeyed instantly at T__essa__, where her husband's blustering and roaring were quietly__disregarded._

_As far back as __Eugenia__ could remember, her mother had always been the same, her voice soft__and sweet whether in praising or in reproving, her manner efficient and unruffled despite the__daily emergencies of __Thoma__s__'__ turbulent household, her spirit always calm and her back__unbowed, even in the deaths of her three baby sons. __Eugenia__ had never seen her mother's__back touch the back of any chair on which she sat. Nor had she ever seen her sit down__without a bit of needlework in her hands, except at mealtime, while attending the sick or__while working at the bookkeeping of the plantation. It was delicate embroidery if company__were present, but at other times her hands were occupied with __Thomas__' ruffled shirts, the__girls' dresses or garments for the slaves. __Eugenia__ could not imagine her mother's hands__without her gold thimble or her rustling figure unaccompanied by the small negro girl whose__sole function in life was to remove basting threads and carry the rosewood sewing box from__room to room, as __Alice__ moved about the house superintending the cooking, the cleaning and__the wholesale clothes-making for the plantation._

_She had never seen her mother stirred from her austere placidity, nor her personal__appointments anything but perfect, no matter what the hour of day or night. When __Alice__ was__dressing for a ball or for guests or even to go to Jonesboro for Court Day, it frequently__required two hours, two maids and__ Nan__ to turn her out to her own satisfaction; but her__swift toilets in times of emergency were amazing.__ Eugenia__, whose room lay across the hall from her mother's, knew from babyhood the soft__sound of scurrying bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the hours of dawn, the urgent__tappings on her mother's door, and the muffled, frightened negro voices that whispered of__sickness and birth and death in the long row of whitewashed cabins in the quarters. As a__child, she often had crept to the door and, peeping through the tiniest crack, had seen __Alice __emerge from the dark room, where __Thomas__' snores were rhythmic and untroubled, into the__flickering light of an upheld candle, her medicine case under her arm, her hair smoothed__neatly place, and no button on her basque unlooped._

_It had always been so soothing to __Eugenia__ to hear her mother whisper, firmly but__compassionately, as she tiptoed down the hall: "Hush, not so loudly. You will wake Mr.__ Rotchford__. They are not sick enough to die."_

_Yes, it was good to creep back into bed and know that __Alice__ was abroad in the night and__everything was right._

_In the mornings, after all-night sessions at births and deaths, when old Dr. __Banks__ and__young Dr. __Banks__ were both out on calls and could not be found to help her, __Alice__ presided__at the breakfast table as usual, her dark eyes circled with weariness but her voice and manner__revealing none of the strain. There was a steely quality under her stately gentleness that__awed the whole household, __Thomas__ as well as the girls, though he would have died rather__than admit it._

_Sometimes when __Eugenia__ tiptoed at night to kiss her tall mother's cheek, she looked up at the__mouth with its too short, too tender upper lip, a mouth too easily hurt by the world, and__wondered if it had ever curved in silly girlish giggling or whispered secrets through long__nights to intimate girl friends. But no, that wasn't possible. M__a__ had always been just as__she was, a pillar of strength, a fount of wisdom, the one person who knew the answers to__everything._

_But __Eugenia__ was wrong, for, years before, __Alice Duchard__ of Savannah had giggled as__inexplicably as any fifteen-year-old in that charming coastal city and whispered the long__nights through with friends, exchanging confidences, telling all secrets but one. That was the__year when __Thomas Rotchford__, twenty-eight years older than she, came into her life-the year, too,__when youth and her black-eyed cousin,__ Julien__Duchard__, went out of it. For when __Duchard__,__with his snapping eyes and his wild ways, left Savannah forever, he took with him the glow__that was in __Alice__'s heart and left for the bandy-legged little Irishman who married her only a__gentle shell._

_But that was enough for __Thomas__, overwhelmed at his unbelievable luck in actually marrying__her. And if anything was gone from her, he never missed it. Shrewd man that he was, he__knew that it was no less than a miracle that he, an Irishman with nothing of family and__wealth to recommend him, should win the daughter of one of the wealthiest and proudest__families on the Coast. For __Thomas__ was a self-made man._

_Thomas__ had come to America from Ireland when he was twenty-one. He had come hastily, as__many a better and worse Irishman before and since, with the clothes he had on his back, two__shillings above his passage money and a price on his head that he felt was larger than his__misdeed warranted. There was no Orangeman this side of hell worth a hundred pounds to__the British government or to the devil himself; but if the government felt so strongly about__the death of an English absentee landlord's rent agent, it was time for __Thomas Rotchford__ to be__leaving and leaving suddenly. True, he had called the rent agent "a bastard of an__Orangeman," but that, according to Gerald's way of looking at it, did not give the man any__right to insult him by whistling the opening bars of "The Boyne Water."_

_The Battle of the Boyne had been fought more than a hundred years before, but, to the__O'Haras and their neighbors, it might have been yesterday when their hopes and their__dreams, as well as their lands and wealth, went off in the same cloud of dust that enveloped a__frightened and fleeing Stuart prince, leaving William of Orange and his hated troops with__their orange cockades to cut down the Irish adherents of the Stuarts._

_For this and other reasons, __Thomas__' family was not inclined to view the fatal outcome of this__quarrel as anything very serious, except for the fact that it was charged with serious__consequences. For years, th__e Rotchford's__ had been in bad odor with the English constabulary on__account of suspected activities against the government, and __Thomas__ was not the first O'Hara__to take his foot in his hand and quit Ireland between dawn and morning. His two oldest__brothers, __John__ and __Herbert__, he hardly remembered, save as close-lipped youths who came__and went at odd hours of the night on mysterious errands or disappeared for weeks at a time,__to their mother's gnawing anxiety. They had come to America years before, after the__discovery of a small arsenal of rifles buried under the __Rotchford__ pigsty. Now they were__successful merchants in Savannah, "though the dear God alone knows where that may be," as__their mother always interpolated when mentioning the two oldest of her male brood, and it__was to them that young __Thomas__ was sent._

_He left home with his mother's hasty kiss on his cheek and her fervent Catholic blessing in his__ears, and his father's parting admonition, "Remember who ye are and don't be taking__nothing off no man." His five tall brothers gave him good-by with admiring but slightly__patronizing smiles, for __Thomas__ was the baby and the little one of a brawny family.__His five brothers and their father stood six feet and over and broad in proportion, but little__ Thomas__, at twenty-one, knew that five feet four and a half inches was as much as the Lord in__His wisdom was going to allow him. It was like __Thomas__ that he never wasted regrets on his__lack of height and never found it an obstacle to his acquisition of anything he wanted.__Rather, it was__ Thomas__'s compact smallness that made him what he was, for he had learned__early that little people must be hardy to survive among large ones. And __Thomas__ was hardy.__His tall brothers were a grim, quiet lot, in whom the family tradition of past glories, lost__forever, rankled in unspoken hate and crackled out in bitter humor. Had__ Thomas__ been__brawny, he would have gone the way of the other __Rotchford'__s and moved quietly and darkly__among the rebels against the government. But __Thomas__ was "loud-mouthed and bullheaded,"__as his mother fondly phrased it, hair trigger of temper, quick with his fists and possessed of a__chip on his shoulder so large as to be almost visible to the naked eye. He swaggered among__the tall __Rotchford'__s like a strutting bantam in a barnyard of giant Cochin roosters, and they loved__him, baited him affectionately to hear him roar and hammered on him with their large fists__no more than was necessary to keep a baby brother in his proper place._

_If the educational equipment which __Thomas__ brought to America was scant, he did not even__know it. Nor would he have cared if he had been told. His mother had taught him to read__and to write a clear hand. He was adept at ciphering. And there his book knowledge__stopped. The only Latin he knew was the responses of the Mass and the only history the__manifold wrongs of Ireland. He knew no poetry save that of__ Moore__ and no music except the__songs of Ireland that had come down through the years. While he entertained the liveliest__respect for those who had more book learning than he, he never felt his own lack. And what__need had he of these things in a new country where the most ignorant of bogtrotters had__made great fortunes? In this country which asked only that a man be strong and unafraid of__work?_

_Nor did J__ohn__ and __Herbert__, who took him into their store in Savannah, regret his lack of__education. His clear hand, his accurate figures and his shrewd ability in bargaining won their__respect, where a knowledge of literature and a fine appreciation of music, had young __Thomas __possessed them, would have moved them to snorts of contempt. America, in the early years__of the century, had been kind to the Irish. __John__ and __Herbert__, who had begun by hauling__goods in covered wagons from Savannah to Georgia's inland towns, had prospered into a__store of their own, and Gerald prospered with them._

_He liked the South, and he soon became, in his own opinion, a Southerner. There was much__about the South-and Southerners-that he would never comprehend: but, with the__wholeheartedness that was his nature, he adopted its ideas and customs, as he understood__them, for his own-poker and horse racing, red-hot politics and the code duello, States' Rights__and damnation to all Yankees, slavery and King Cotton, contempt for white trash and__exaggerated courtesy to women. He even learned to chew tobacco. There was no need for__him to acquire a good head for whisky, he had been born with one._

_But __Thomas__ remained __Thomas__. His habits of living and his ideas changed, but his manners he__would not change, even had he been able to change them. He admired the drawling elegance__of the wealthy rice and cotton planters, who rode into Savannah from their moss-hung__kingdoms, mounted on thoroughbred horses and followed by the carriages of their equally__elegant ladies and the wagons of their slaves. But __Thomas__ could never attain elegance. Their__lazy, blurred voices fell pleasantly on his ears, but his own brisk brogue clung to his tongue.__He liked the casual grace with which they conducted affairs of importance, risking a fortune,__a plantation or a slave on the turn of a card and writing off their losses with careless goodhumor and no more ado than when they scattered pennies to pickaninnies. But __Thomas__ had__known poverty, and he could never learn to lose money with good humor or good grace.__They were a pleasant race, these coastal Georgians, with their soft-voiced, quick rages and__their charming inconsistencies, and __Thomas__ liked them. But there was a brisk and restless__vitality about the young Irishman, fresh from a country where winds blew wet and chill,__where misty swamps held no fevers, that set him apart from these indolent gentlefolk of__semi-tropical weather and malarial marshes_

_From them he learned what he found useful, and the rest he dismissed. He found poker the__most useful of all Southern customs, poker and a steady head for whisky; and it was his__natural aptitude for cards and amber liquor that brought to __Thomas__ two of his three most__prized possessions, his valet and his plantation. The other was his wife, and he could only__attribute her to the mysterious kindness of God._

_The valet, __Howie__ by name, shining black, dignified and trained in all the arts of sartorial__elegance, was the result of an all-night poker game with a planter from St. Simons Island,__whose courage in a bluff equaled __Thomas__' but whose head for New Orleans rum did not.__Though __Howie__'s former owner later offered to buy him back at twice his value, __Thomas __obstinately refused, for the possession of his first slave, and that slave the "best damn valet on__the Coast," was the first step upward toward his heart's desire, __Thomas__ wanted to be a slave__owner and a landed gentleman._

_His mind was made up that he was not going to spend all of his days, like James an__d __Andrew, in bargaining, or all his nights, by candlelight, over long columns of figures He felt__keenly, as his brothers did not, the social stigma attached to those "in trade." Gerald wanted__to be a planter. With the deep hunger of an Irishman who has been a tenant on the lands his__people once had owned and hunted, he wanted to see his own acres stretching green before__his eyes. With a ruthless singleness of purpose, he desired his own house, his own__plantation, his own horse, his own slaves. And here in this new country, safe from the twin__perils of the land he had left-taxation that ate up crops and barns and the ever-present threat__of sudden confiscation-he intended to have them. But having that ambition and bringing it__to realization were two different matters, he discovered as time went by. Coastal Georgia__was too firmly held by an entrenched aristocracy for him ever to hope to win the place he__intended to have._

_Then the hand of Fate and a hand of poker combined to give him the plantation which he__afterwards called T__essa__, and at the same time moved him out of the Coast into the upland__country of north Georgia._

_It was in a saloon in Savannah, on a hot night in spring, when the chance conversation of a__stranger sitting near by made __Thomas__ prick up his ears. The stranger, a native of Savannah,__had just returned after twelve years in the inland country. He had been one of the winners in__the land lottery conducted by the State to divide up the vast area in middle Georgia, ceded by__the Indians the year before __Thomas__ came to America. He had gone up there and established a__plantation; but, now the house had burned down, he was tired of the "accursed place" andwould be most happy to get it off his hands__._

_Thomas__, his mind never free of the thought of owning a plantation of his own, arranged an__ i__ntroduction, and his interest grew as the stranger told how the northern section of the state__was filling up with newcomers from the Carolinas and Virginia. __Thomas__ had lived in__Savannah long enough to acquire a viewpoint of the Coast-that all of the rest of the state was__backwoods, with an Indian lurking in every thicket. In transacting business for __Rotchford __Brothers, he had visited Augusta, a hundred miles up the Savannah River, and he had__traveled inland far enough to visit the old towns westward from that city. He knew that__section to be as well settled as the Coast, but from the stranger's description, his plantation__was more than two hundred and fifty miles inland from Savannah to the north and west, and__not many miles south of the Chattahoochee River. __Thomas__ knew that northward beyond that__stream the land was still held by the Cherokees, so it was with amazement that he heard the__stranger jeer at suggestions of trouble with the Indians and narrate how thriving towns were__growing up and plantations prospering in the new country._

_An hour later when the conversation began to lag, __Thomas__, with a guile that belied the wide__innocence of his bright blue eyes, proposed a game. As the night wore on and the drinks__went round, there came a time when all the others in the game laid down their hands and__ Thomas__ and the stranger were battling alone. The stranger shoved in all his chips and__followed with the deed to his plantation.__ Thomas__ shoved in all his chips and laid on top of__them his wallet. If the money it contained happened to belong to the firm of__ Rotchford__ Brothers,__ Thomas__' conscience was not sufficiently troubled to confess it before Mass the following__morning. He knew what he wanted, and when __Thomas__ wanted something he gained it by__taking the most direct route. Moreover, such was his faith in his destiny and four dueces that__he never for a moment wondered just how the money would be paid back should a higher__hand be laid down across the table._

"_It's no bargain you're getting and I am glad not to have to pay more taxes on the place,"__sighed the possessor of an "ace full," as he called for pen and ink. "The big house burned a__year ago and the fields are growing up in brush and seedling pine. But it's yours."_

"_Never mix cards and whisky unless you were weaned on Irish poteen," __Thomas__ told __Howie __gravely the same evening, as __Howie__ assisted him to bed. And the valet, who had begun to__attempt a brogue out of admiration for his new master, made requisite answer in a__combination of Geechee and County Meath that would have puzzled anyone except those__two alone._

_The muddy Flint River, running silently between walls of pine and water oak covered with__tangled vines, wrapped about __Thomas__' new land like a curving arm and embraced it on two__sides. To __Thomas__, standing on the small knoll where the house had been, this tall barrier of__green was as visible and pleasing an evidence of ownership as though it were a fence that he__himself had built to mark his own. He stood on the blackened foundation stones of the__burned building, looked down the long avenue of trees leading toward the road and swore__lustily, with a joy too deep for thankful praye__r. These twin lines of somber trees were his, his the abandoned lawn, waist high in weeds under white-starred young magnolia trees. The uncultivated fields, studded with tiny pines and underbrush, that stretched their rolling red-clay surface away into the distance on four sides belonged to Thomas-were all his because he had an unbefuddled Irish head and the courage to stake everything on a hand of cards._

_Thomas__ closed his eyes and, in the stillness of the unworked acres, he felt that he had come__home. Here under his feet would rise a house of whitewashed brick. Across the road would__be new rail fences, inclosing fat cattle and blooded horses, and the red earth that rolled down__the hillside to the rich river bottom land would gleam white as eiderdown in the sun-cotton,__acres and acres of cotton! The fortunes of the__ Rotchford'__s would rise again._

_With his own small stake, what he could borrow from his unenthusiastic brothers and a neat__sum from mortgaging the land, __Thomas__ bought his first field hands and came to T__essa__ to live in__bachelor solitude in the four-room overseer's house, till such a time as the white walls of T__essa __should rise._

_He cleared the fields and planted cotton and borrowed more money from J__ohn__ and __Herbert __to buy more slaves. The __Rotchford'__s were a clannish tribe, clinging to one another in prosperity__as well as in adversity, not for any overweening family affection but because they had learne__d __through grim years that to survive a family must present an unbroken front to the world.__They lent Gerald the money and, in the years that followed, the money came back to them__with interest. Gradually the plantation widened out, as Gerald bought more acres lying near__him, and in time the white house became a reality instead of a dream._

_It was built by slave labor, a clumsy sprawling building that crowned the rise of ground__overlooking the green incline of pasture land running down to the river; and it pleased__ Thomas __greatly, for, even when new, it wore a look of mellowed years. The old oaks, which__had seen Indians pass under their limbs, hugged the house closely with their great trunks and__towered their branches over the roof in dense shade. The lawn, reclaimed from weeds, grew__thick with clover and Bermuda grass, and __Thomas__ saw to it that it was well kept. From the__avenue of cedars to the row of white cabins in the slave quarters, there was an air of__solidness, of stability and permanence about T__essa__, and whenever galloped around the__bend in the road and saw his own roof rising through green branches, his heart swelled with__pride as though each sight of it were the first sight._

_He had done it all, little, hard-headed, blustering Gerald._

_Thomas__ was on excellent terms with all his neighbors in the County, except the MacIntoshes__whose land adjoined his on the left and the Slatterys whose meager three acres stretched on__his right along the swamp bottoms between the river and John Wilkes' plantation._

_The __MacDurby __were Scotch-Irish and Orangemen and, had they possessed all the saintly__qualities of the Catholic calendar, this ancestry would have damned them forever in __Thomas__'__eyes. True, they had lived in Georgia for seventy years and, before that, had spent ageneration in the Carolinas; but the first of the family who set foot on American shores had__come from__Ulster, and that was enough for __Thomas__._

_They were a close-mouthed and stiff-necked family, who kept strictly to themselves and__intermarried with their Carolina relatives, and __Thomas__ was not alone in disliking them, for the__County people were neighborly and sociable and none too tolerant of anyone lacking in those__same qualities. Rumors of Abolitionist sympathies did not enhance the popularity of the__Mac__Durby's__. Old __Furgus__ had never manumitted a single slave and had committed the__unpardonable social breach of selling some of his negroes to passing slave traders en route to__the cane fields of Louisiana, but the rumors persisted._

"_He's an Abolitionist, no doubt," observed __Thomas__ to __Clarence Montgomery__. "But, in an Orangeman,__when a principle comes up against Scotch tightness, the principle fares ill."__The __Clampitt'__s were another affair. Being poor white, they were not even accorded the__grudging respect that __Furgus__ Mac__Durby__'s dour independence wrung from neighboring__families. Old __Clampitt__, who clung persistently to his few acres, in spite of repeated offers from__ Thomas__ and __Clarence Montgomery__, was shiftless and whining. His wife was a snarly-haired woman,__sickly and washed-out of appearance, the mother of a brood of sullen and rabbity-looking__children- a brood which was increased regularly every year. __Jimmy Clampitt__ owned no slaves,__and he and his two oldest boys spasmodically worked their few acres of cotton, while the__wife and younger children tended what was supposed to be a vegetable garden. But,__somehow, the cotton always failed, and the garden, due to Mrs. __Clampitt__'s constant__childbearing, seldom furnished enough to feed her flock._

_The sight of __Jimmy Clampitt __dawdling on his neighbors' porches, begging cotton seed for__planting or a side of bacon to "tide him over," was a familiar one. Slattery hated his__neighbors with what little energy he possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their__courtesy, and especially did he hate "rich folks' uppity niggers." The house negroes of the__County considered themselves superior to white trash, and their unconcealed scorn stung__him, while their more secure position in life stirred his envy. By contrast with his own__miserable existence, they were well-fed, well-clothed and looked after in sickness and old age.__They were proud of the good names of their owners and, for the most part, proud to belong__to people who were quality, while he was despised by all._

_Jimmy Clampitt__ could have sold his farm for three times its value to any of the planters in the__County. They would have considered it money well spent to rid the community of an__eyesore, but he was well satisfied to remain and to subsist miserably on the proceeds of a bale__of cotton a year and the charity of his neighbors._

_With all the rest of the County, __Thomas__ was on terms of amity and some intimacy. The__ Montgomery's__, the __Throckermort's__, the __Babcock's__, the __Banks'__, all smiled when the small figure on the__big white horse galloped up their driveways, smiled and signaled for tall glasses in which a__pony of Bourbon had been poured over a teaspoon of sugar and a sprig of crushed mint.__ Thomas__ was likable, and the neighbors learned in time what the children, negroes and dogsdiscovered at first sight, that a kind heart, a ready and sympathetic ear and an open__pocketbook lurked just behind his bawling voice and his truculent manner._

_His arrival was always amid a bedlam of hounds barking and small black children shouting__as they raced to meet him, quarreling for the privilege of holding his horse and squirming__and grinning under his good-natured insults. The white children clamored to sit on his knee__and be trotted, while he denounced to their elders the infamy of Yankee politicians; the__daughters of his friends took him into their confidence about their love affairs, and the youths__of the neighborhood, fearful of confessing debts of honor upon the carpets of their fathers,__found him a friend in need._

"_So, you've been owning this for a month, you young rascal!" he would shout. "And, in__God's name, why haven't you been asking me for the money before this?"_

_His rough manner of speech was too well known to give offense, and it only made the young__men grin sheepishly and reply: "Well, sir, I hated to trouble you, and my father-"_

"_Your father's a good man, and no denying it, but strict, and so take this and let's be hearing__no more of it."_

_The planters' ladies were the last to capitulate. But, when Mrs. __Montgomery__, "a great lady and with__a rare gift for silence," as __Thomas__ characterized her, told her husband one evening, after__ Thomas'__ horse had pounded down the driveway. "He has a rough tongue, but he is a__gentleman,"__ Thomas__ had definitely arrived._

_He did not know that he had taken nearly ten years to arrive, for it never occurred to him that__his neighbors had eyed him askance at first. In his own mind, there had never been any__doubt that he belonged, from the moment he first set foot on T__essa__._

_When Gerald was forty-three, so thickset of body and florid of face that he looked like a__hunting squire out of a sporting print, it came to him that Tara, dear though it was, and the__County folk, with their open hearts and open houses, were not enough. He wanted a wife.__Tara cried out for a mistress. The fat cook, a yard negro elevated by necessity to the kitchen,__never had the meals on time, and the chambermaid, formerly a field hand, let dust__accumulate on the furniture and never seemed to have clean linen on hand, so that the arrival__of guests was always the occasion of much stirring and to-do. __Howie__, the only trained house__negro on the place, had general supervision over the other servants, but even he had grown__slack and careless after several years of exposure to __Thomas'__ happy-go-lucky mode of living.__As valet, he kept __Thomas'__ bedroom in order, and, as butler, he served the meals with dignity__and style, but otherwise he pretty well let matters follow their own course._

_With unerring African instinct, the negroes had all discovered that __Thomas'__ had a loud bark__and no bite at all, and they took shameless advantage of him. The air was always thick with__threats of selling slaves south and of direful whippings, but there never had been a slave soldfrom T__essa__ and only one whipping, and that administered for not grooming down Gerald's__pet horse after a long day's hunting._

_Thomas'__ sharp blue eyes noticed how efficiently his neighbors' houses were run and with__what ease the smooth-haired wives in rustling skirts managed their servants. He had no__knowledge of the dawn-till-midnight activities of these women, chained to supervision of__cooking, nursing, sewing and laundering. He only saw the outward results, and those results__impressed him._

_The urgent need of a wife became clear to him one morning when he was dressing to ride to__town for Court Day. Pork brought forth his favorite ruffled shirt, so inexpertly mended by__the chambermaid as to be unwearable by anyone except his valet._

"_Mist' __Thomas__," said __Howie__, gratefully rolling up the shirt as __Thomas__ fumed, "whut you needs is__a wife, and a wife whut has got plen'y of house niggers."_

_Thomas__ upbraided __Howie__ for his impertinence, but he knew that he was right. He wanted a__wife and he wanted children and, if he did not acquire them soon, it would be too late. But__he was not going to marry just anyone, as Mr. __Throckermort__ had done, taking to wife the Yankee__governess of his motherless children. His wife must be a lady and a lady of blood, with as__many airs and graces as Mrs. __Montgomery__ and the ability to manage Tara as well as Mrs. __Throckermort __ordered her own domain._

_But there were two difficulties in the way of marriage into the County families. The first was__the scarcity of girls of marriageable age. The second, and more serious one, was that __Thomas __was a "new man," despite his nearly ten years' residence, and a foreigner. No one knew__anything about his family. While the society of up-country Georgia was not so impregnable__as that of the Coast aristocrats, no family wanted a daughter to wed a man about whose__grandfather nothing was known._

_Thomas__ knew that despite the genuine liking of the County men with whom he hunted, drank__and talked politics there was hardly one whose daughter he could marry. And he did not__intend to have it gossiped about over supper tables that this, that or the other father had__regretfully refused to let __Thomas Rotchford__ pay court to his daughter. This knowledge did not__make Gerald feel inferior to his neighbors. Nothing could ever make __Thomas__ feel that he was__inferior in any way to anyone. It was merely a quaint custom of the County that daughters__only married into families who had lived in the South much longer than twenty-two years,__had owned land and slaves and been addicted only to the fashionable vices during that time._

"_Pack up. We're going to Savannah," he told __Howie__. "And if I hear you say 'Whist!' or 'Faith!'__but once, it's selling you I'll be doing, for they are words I seldom say meself."_

_J__ohn__ and __Herbert__ might have some advice to offer on this subject of marriage, and there__might be daughters among their old friends who would both meet his requirements and find__him acceptable as a husband. J__ohn__ and __Herbert__ listened to his story patiently but they gavehim little encouragement. They had no Savannah relatives to whom they might look for__assistance, for they had been married when they came to America. And the daughters of__their old friends had long since married and were raising small children of their own._

"_You're not a rich man and you haven't a great family," said __John__._

"_I've made me money and I can make a great family. And I won't be marrying just anyone."_

"_You fly high," observed __Herbert__, dryly._

_But they did their best for __Thomas__. J__ohn__ and __Herbert__ were old men and they stood well in__Savannah. They had many friends, and for a month they carried __Thomas__ from home to home,__to suppers, dances and picnics._

"_There's only one who takes me eye,"__ Thomas__ said finally. "And she not even born when I__landed here."_

"_And who is it takes your eye?"_

"_Miss __Alice__Duchard__," said __Thomas__, trying to speak casually, for the slightly tilting dark eyes__of __Alice Duchard__ had taken more than his eye. Despite a mystifying listlessness of manner,__so strange in a girl of fifteen, she charmed him. Moreover, there was a haunting look of__despair about her that went to his heart and made him more gentle with her than he had ever__been with any person in all the world._

"_And you old enough to be her father!"_

"_And me in me prime!" cried __Thomas__ stung._

_John__ spoke gently._

"_Tom__, there's no girl in Savannah you'd have less chance of marrying. Her father is a__ Duchard__, and those French are proud as Lucifer. And her mother-God rest her soul-was a__very great lady."_

"_I care not," said __Thomas__ heatedly. "Besides, her mother is dead, and old man Robillard likes__me."_

"_As a man, yes, but as a son-in-law, no."_

"_The girl wouldn't have you anyway," interposed __Herbert__. "She's been in love with that__wild buck of a cousin of hers,__ Julien Duchard__, for a year now, despite her family being at__her morning and night to give him up."_

"_He's been gone to Louisiana this month now," said __John__."And how do you know?"_

"_I know," answered __Thomas__, who did not care to disclose that __Howie__ had supplied this valuable__bit of information, or that __Julien__ had departed for the West at the express desire of his__family. "And I do not think she's been so much in love with him that she won't forget him.__Fifteen is too young to know much about love."_

"_They'd rather have that breakneck cousin for her than you."_

_So, J__ohn__ and __Herbert__ were as startled as anyone when the news came out that the daughter__of Sébastien __Duchard__ was to marry the little Irishman from up the country. Savannah buzzed__behind its doors and speculated about __Julien__Duchard__, who had gone West, but the__gossiping brought no answer. Why the loveliest of the __Duchard__ daughters should marry a__loud-voiced, red-faced little man who came hardly up to her ears remained a mystery to all.__ Thomas__ himself never quite knew how it all came about. He only knew that a miracle had__happened. And, for once in his life, he was utterly humble when __Alice__, very white but very__calm, put a light hand on his arm and said: "I will marry you, Mr.__ Rotchford__."_

_The thunderstruck __Duchard's__ knew the answer in part, but only __Alice__ and h__er nan__ ever__knew the whole story of the night when the girl sobbed till the dawn like a broken-hearted__child and rose up in the morning a woman with her mind made up._

_With foreboding,__Nan__ had brought her young mistress a small package, addressed in a__strange hand from New Orleans, a package containing a miniature of __Alice__, which she flung__to the floor with a cry, four letters in her own handwriting to__ Julien__Duchard, she recieved __a brief__letter from a New Orleans priest, announcing the death of her cousin in a barroom brawl._

"_They drove him away, Father and __Rosalie__ and __Marguarite__. They drove him away. I hate them.__I hate them all. I never want to see them again. I want to get away. I will go away where I'll__never see them again, or this town, or anyone who reminds me of-of- him."_

_And when the night was nearly spent, __Nan__, who had cried herself out over her mistress'__dark head, protested, "But, honey, you kain do dat!"_

"_I will do it. He is a kind man. I will do it or go into the convent at Charleston."_

_It was the threat of the convent that finally won the assent of bewildered and heartstricken__Sébastien __Duchard__. He was staunchly Presbyterian, even though his family were Catholic, and__the thought of his daughter becoming a nun was even worse than that of her marrying Gerald__O'Hara. After all, the man had nothing against him but a lack of family._

_So, __Alice__, no longer __Duchard__, turned her back on Savannah, never to see it again, and with a__middle-aged husband, __Nan, a__nd twenty "house niggers" journeyed toward T__essa. __The next year, their first child was born and they named her __Victoria Eugenia__, after __Thoma__s__ grand__mother. __Thomas__ was disappointed, for he had wanted a son, but he nevertheless was pleased__enough over his small __yellow__-haired daughter to serve rum to every slave at T__essa__ and to get__roaringly, happily drunk himself._

_If __Alice__ had ever regretted her sudden decision to marry him, no one ever knew it, certainly__not __Thomas__, who almost burst with pride whenever he looked at her. She had put Savannah__and its memories behind her when she left that gently mannered city by the sea, and, from__the moment of her arrival in the County, north Georgia was her home._

_When she departed from her father's house forever, she had left a home whose lines were as__beautiful and flowing as a woman's body, as a ship in full sail; a pale pink stucco house built__in the French colonial style, set high from the ground in a dainty manner, approached by__swirling stairs, banistered with wrought iron as delicate as lace; a dim, rich house, gracious__but aloof._

_She had left not only that graceful dwelling but also the entire civilization that was behind the__building of it, and she found herself in a world that was as strange and different as if she had__crossed a continent._

_Here in north Georgia was a rugged section held by a hardy people. High up on the plateau__at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling red hills wherever she looked, with__huge outcroppings of the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere.__It all seemed wild and untamed to her coast- bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty__of the sea islands draped in their gray moss and tangled green, the white stretches of beach__hot beneath a semitropic sun, the long flat vistas of sandy land studded with palmetto and__palm._

_This was a section that knew the chill of winter, as well as the heat of summer, and there was__a vigor and energy in the people that was strange to her. They were a kindly people,__courteous, generous, filled with abounding good nature, but sturdy, virile, easy to anger. The__people of the Coast which she had left might pride themselves on taking all their affairs, even__their duels and their feuds, with a careless air but these north Georgia people had a streak of__violence in them. On the coast, life had mellowed-here it was young and lusty and new.__All the people __Alice__ had known in Savannah might have been cast from the same mold, so__similar were their view points and traditions, but here was a variety of people. North__Georgia's settlers were coming in from many different places, from other parts of Georgia,__from the Carolinas and Virginia, from Europe and the North. Some of them, like __Thomas__,__were new people seeking their fortunes. Some, like __Alice__, were members of old families who__had found life intolerable in their former homes and sought haven in a distant land. Many__had moved for no reason at all, except that the restless blood of pioneering fathers still__quickened in their people, drawn from many different places and with many different backgrounds, gavethe whole life of the County an informality that was new to __Alice__, an informality to which she__never quite accustomed herself. She instinctively knew how Coast people would act in any__circumstance. There was never any telling what north Georgians would do._

_And, quickening all of the affairs of the section, was the high tide of prosperity then rolling__over the South. All of the world was crying out for cotton, and the new land of the County,__unworn and fertile, produced it abundantly. Cotton was the heartbeat of the section, the__planting and the picking were the diastole and systole of the red earth. Wealth came out of__the curving furrows, and arrogance came too-arrogance built on green bushes and the acres__of fleecy white. If cotton could make them rich in one generation, how much richer they__would be in the next!_

_This certainty of the morrow gave zest and enthusiasm to life, and the County people enjoyed__life with a heartiness that __Alice__ could never understand. They had money enough and slaves__enough to give them time to play, and they liked to play. They seemed never too busy to__drop work for a fish fry, a hunt or a horse race, and scarcely a week went by without its__barbecue or ball._

_Alice__ never would, or could, quite become one of them-she had left too much of herself in__Savannah-but she respected them and, in time, learned to admire the frankness and__forthrightness of these people, who had few reticences and who valued a man for what he__was._

_She became the best-loved neighbor in the County. She was a thrifty and kind mistress, a__good mother and a devoted wife. The heartbreak and selflessness that she would have__dedicated to the Church were devoted instead to the service of her child, her household and__the man who had taken her out of Savannah and its memories and had never asked any__questions._

_When __Eugenia__ was a year old, and more healthy and vigorous than a girl baby had any right__to be, in __Nan__'s opinion, __Alice__'s second child, named __Emily Elizabeth__, but always called__ Emmabeth__, was born, and in due time came __Mary Cate__, listed in the family Bible as __Marianne Catherine, Catherine after Thomas'__.__Then followed three little boys, each of whom died before he had learned to walk-three little__boys who now lay under the twisted cedars in the burying ground a hundred yards from the__house, beneath three stones, each bearing the name of "__Thomas Rotchford__, Jr."__received, and she also had __Nan__, who could galvanize the most shiftless negro into__energy. She quickly brought order, dignity and grace into __Thomas__' household, and she gave__T__essa__ a beauty it had never had before._

_The house had been built according to no architectural plan whatever, with extra rooms__added where and when it seemed convenient, but, with __Alice__'s care and attention, it gained a__charm that made up for its lack of design. The avenue of cedars leading from the main road__to the house-that avenue of cedars without which no Georgia planter's home could be__complete-had a cool dark shadiness that gave a brighter tinge, by contrast, to the green of the__other trees. The wistaria tumbling over the verandas showed bright against the whitewashed__brick, and it joined with the pink crepe myrtle bushes by the door and the white-blossomed__magnolias in the yard to disguise some of the awkward lines of the house._

_In spring time and summer, the Bermuda grass and clover on the lawn became emerald, so__enticing an emerald that it presented an irresistible temptation to the flocks of turkeys and__white geese that were supposed to roam only the regions in the rear of the house. The elders__of the flocks continually led stealthy advances into the front yard, lured on by the green of the__grass and the luscious promise of the cape jessamine buds and the zinnia beds. Against their__depredations, a small black sentinel was stationed on the front porch. Armed with a ragged__towel, the little negro boy sitting on the steps was part of the picture of T__essa__-and an unhappy__one, for he was forbidden to chunk the fowls and could only flap the towel at them and shoo__them._

_Alice__ set dozens of little black boys to this task, the first position of responsibility a male slave__had at T__essa__. After they had passed their tenth year, they were sent to old __Davie__ the__plantation cobbler to learn his trade, or to __Robert __the wheelwright and carpenter, or __Timothy__ the__cow man, or __Phillie__ the mule boy. If they showed no aptitude for any of these trades, they__became field hands and, in the opinion of the negroes, they had lost their claim to any socia__l __standing at all._

_Alice__'s life was not easy, nor was it happy, but she did not expect life to be easy, and, if it was__not happy, that was woman's lot. It was a man's world, and she accepted it as such. The__man owned the property, and the woman managed it. The man took the credit for the__management, and the woman praised his cleverness. The man roared like a bull when a__splinter was in his finger, and the woman muffled the moans of childbirth, lest she disturb__him. Men were rough of speech and often drunk. Women ignored the lapses of speech and__put the drunkards to bed without bitter words. Men were rude and outspoken, women were__always kind, gracious and forgiving._

_She had been reared in the tradition of great ladies, which had taught her how to carry her__burden and still retain her charm, and she intended that her three daughters should be great__ladies also. With her younger daughters, she had success, for __Emmabeth__ was so anxious to be__attractive she lent an attentive and obedient ear to her mother's teachings, and __Mary Cate__ was__shy and easily led. But __Eugenia__, child of Gerald, found the road to ladyhood hard.__B__ut Nan__ was under no illusions about her and was constantly alert for breaks in the__veneer. __Nan__'s eyes were sharper than __Alice__'s, and __Eugenia__ could never recall in all her__life having fooled __Nan__ for long._

_It was not that these two loving mentors deplored Scarlett's high spirits, vivacity and charm.__These were traits of which Southern women were proud. It was __Thomas__' headstrong and__impetuous nature in her that gave them concern, and they sometimes feared they would not__be able to conceal her damaging qualities until she had made a good match. But __Eugenia __intended to marry-and marry __Daniel__-and she was willing to appear demure, pliable and__scatterbrained, if those were the qualities that attracted men. Just why men should be this__way, she did not know. She only knew that such methods worked. It never interested her__enough to try to think out the reason for it, for she knew nothing of the inner workings of any__human being's mind, not even her own. She knew only that if she did or said thus-and-so,__men would unerringly respond with the complementary thus-and-so. It was like a__mathematical formula and no more difficult, for mathematics was the one subject that had__come easy to Scarlett in her schooldays._

_If she knew little about men's minds, she knew even less about the minds of women, for they__interested her less. She had never had a girl friend, and she never felt any lack on that__account. To her, all women, including her two sisters, were natural enemies in pursuit of the__same prey-ma__n._

_All women with the one exception of her mother._

_Alice Rotchfor__ was different, and __Eugenia__ regarded her as something holy and apart from all__the rest of humankind. When __Eugenia__ was a child, she had confused her mother with the__Virgin Mary, and now that she was older she saw no reason for changing her opinion. To__her, __Alice__ represented the utter security that only Heaven or a mother can give. She knew__that her mother was the embodiment of justice, truth, loving tenderness and profound__wisdom-a great lady._

_Eugenia __wanted very much to be like her mother. The only difficulty was that by being just__and truthful and tender and unselfish, one missed most of the joys of life, and certainly many__beaux. And life was too short to miss such pleasant things. Some day when she was married__to Ashley and old, some day when she had time for it, she intended to be like __Alice__. But, until__then . . ._

_..._

_That night at supper, __Eugenia__ went through the motions of presiding over the table in her__mother's absence, but her mind was in a ferment over the dreadful news she had heard about__ Daniel__ and __Amelia__. Desperately she longed for her mother's return from the __Clampitt__s', for,__without her, she felt lost and alone. What right had the __Clampitt'__s and their everlasting__sickness to take __Alice__ away from home just at this time when she, Scarlett, needed her so__much?_

_Throughout the dismal meal, __Thomas__' booming voice battered against her ears until she__thought she could endure it no longer. He had forgotten completely about his conversation__with her that afternoon and was carrying on a monologue about the latest news from Fort__Sumter, which he punctuated by hammering his fist on the table and waving his arms in the__air. __Thomas__ made a habit of dominating the conversation at mealtimes, and usually __Eugenia__,__occupied with her own thoughts, scarcely heard him; but tonight she could not shut out his__voice, no matter how much she strained to listen for the sound of carriage wheels that would__herald __Alice__'s return._

_Of course, she did not intend to tell her mother what was so heavy on her heart, for __Alice __would be shocked and grieved to know that a daughter of hers wanted a man who was__engaged to another girl. But, in the depths of the first tragedy she had ever known, she__wanted the very comfort of her mother's presence. She always felt secure when __Alice__ was by__her, for there was nothing so bad that __Alice__ could not better it, simply by being there.__She rose suddenly from her chair at the sound of creaking wheels in the driveway and then__sank down again as they went on around the house to the back yard. It could not be __Alice__,__for she would alight at the front steps. Then there was an excited babble of negro voices in__the darkness of the yard and high-pitched negro laughter. Looking out the window, Scarlett__saw Pork, who had left the room a moment before, holding high a flaring pine knot, while__indistinguishable figures descended from a wagon. The laughter and talking rose and fell in__the dark night air, pleasant, homely, carefree sounds, gutturally soft, musically shrill. Then__feet shuffled up the back-porch stairs and into the passageway leading to the main house,__stopping in the hall just outside the dining room. There was a brief interval of whispering,__and __Howie __entered, his usual dignity gone, his eyes rolling and his teeth a-gleam._

"_Mist' __Thomas__," he announced, breathing hard, the pride of a bridegroom all over his shining__face, "you' new 'oman done come."_

"_New woman? I didn't buy any new woman," declared__ Thomas__, pretending to glare._

"_Yassah, you did, Mist' __Thomas__! Yassah! An' she out hyah now wanting ter speak wid you,"answered __Howie__, giggling and twisting his hands in excitement._

"_Well, bring in the bride," said __Thomas__,__and __Howie__, turning, beckoned into the hall to his wife,__newly arrived from the __Montgomery's__ plantation to become part of the household of T__essa__. She__entered, and behind her, almost hidden by her voluminous calico skirts, came her twelve__-year-old daughter, squirming against her mother's legs._

_Lori was tall and bore herself erectly. She might have been any age from thirty to sixty, so unlined was her immobile bronze face. Indian blood was plain in her features, overbalancing the negroid characteristics. The red color of her skin, narrow high forehead, prominent cheek bones and the hawk-bridged nose which flattened at the end above thick negro lips, all showed the mixture of two races. She was self-possessed and walked with a dignity that surpassed even Nan's, for Nan had acquired her dignity and Lori's was in her blood._

_When she spoke, her voice was not so slurred as most negroes' and she chose her words more carefully._

"_Good evenin', young Misses. Mist' Thomas, I is sorry to 'sturb you, but I wanted to come here and thank you agin fo' buyin' me and my chile. Lots of gentlemens might a' bought me but they wouldn't a' bought my Dinah, too, jes' to keep me frum grievin' and I thanks you. I'm gwine do my bes' fo' you and show you I ain't forgettin'."_

"_Hum-hurrump," said Thomas, clearing his throat in embarrassment at being caught openly in an act of kindness._

_Lori turned to Scarlett and something like a smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. "Miss Eugenia, Howie done tole me how you ast Mist Thomas to buy me. And so I'm gwine give you my Dinah fo' yo' own maid."_

_She reached behind her and jerked the little girl forward. She was a brown little creature, with skinny legs like a bird and a myriad of pigtails carefully wrapped with twine sticking stiffly out from her head. She had sharp, knowing eyes that missed nothing and a studiedly stupid look on her face._

"_Thank you, Lori," Eugenia replied, "but I'm afraid Nan will have something to say about that. She's been my maid ever since I was born."_

"_Nan getting ole," said Lori, with a calmness that would have enraged Nan. "She a good nan, but you a young lady now and needs a good maid, and my Dinah been maidin' fo' Miss Lucy fo' a year now. She kin sew and fix hair good as a grown pusson." _

_Prodded by her mother, Dinah bobbed a sudden curtsy and grinned at Eugenia, who could not help grinning back."A sharp little wench," she thought, and said aloud: "Thank you, Lori, we'll see about it when Ma comes home."_

"_Thankee, Ma'm. I gives you a good night," said Lori and, turning, left the room with her child, Howie dancing attendance. The supper things cleared away, Thomas resumed his oration, but with little satisfaction to himself and none at all to his audience. His thunderous predictions of immediate war and his rhetorical questions as to whether the South would stand for further insults from the Yankees only produced faintly bored, "Yes, Papas" and "No, Pas." _

_Mary Cate, sitting on a hassock under the big lamp, was deep in the romance of a girl who had taken the veil after her lover's death and, with silent tears of enjoyment oozing from her eyes, was pleasurably picturing herself in a white coif. Emmabeth, embroidering on what she gigglingly called her "hope chest," was wondering if she could possibly detach Walter Babcock from her sister's side at the barbecue tomorrow and fascinate him with the sweet womanly qualities which she possessed and Eugenia did not. And Eugenia was in a tumult about Daniel._

_How could Daddy talk on and on about Fort Sumter and the Yankees when he knew her heart was breaking? As usual in the very young, she marveled that people could be so selfishly oblivious to her pain and the world rock along just the same, in spite of her heartbreak. Her mind was as if a cyclone had gone through it, and it seemed strange that the dining room where they sat should be so placid, so unchanged from what it had always been. The heavy mahogany table and sideboards, the massive silver, the bright rag rugs on the shining floor were all in their accustomed places, just as if nothing had happened. It was a friendly and comfortable room and, ordinarily, Scarlett loved the quiet hours which the family spent there after supper; but tonight she hated the sight of it and, if she had not feared her father's loudly bawled questions, she would have slipped away, down the dark hall to Alice's little office and cried out her sorrow on the old sofa._

_That was the room that Eugenia liked the best in all the house. There, Alice sat before her tall secretary each morning, keeping the accounts of the plantation and listening to the reports of William Pattison, the overseer. There also the family idled while Alice's quill scratched across her ledgers. Thomas in the old rocker, the girls on the sagging cushions of the sofa that was too battered and worn for the front of the house. Eugenia longed to be there now, alone with Alice, so she could put her head in her mother's lap and cry in peace. Wouldn't Ma ever come home?_

_Then, wheels ground sharply on the graveled driveway, and the soft murmur of Alice's voice dismissing the coachman floated into the room. The whole group looked up eagerly as she entered rapidly, her hoops swaying, her face tired and sad. There entered with her the faint fragrance of lemon verbena sachet, which seemed always to creep from the folds of her dresses, a fragrance that was always linked in Eugenia's mind with her mother. Nan followed at a few paces, the leather bag in her hand, her underlip pushed out and her brow lowering. Nan muttered darkly to herself as she waddled, taking care that her remarks were pitched too low to be understood but loud enough to register her unqualifieddisapproval. As the boards shuddered under her weight, the soliloquy she had been muttering in the front hall grew louder and louder, coming clearly to the ears of the family in the dining room._

"_Ah has said time an' again, it doan do no good doin' nuthin' fer w'ite trash. Dey is de shiflesses, mos' ungrateful passel of no- counts livin'. An' Miss Alice got no bizness weahin' herseff out waitin' on folks dat did dey be wuth shootin' dey'd have niggers ter wait on dem. An' Ah has said-"_

_Her voice trailed off as she went down the long open passageway, covered only by a roof, that led into the kitchen. Nan had her own method of letting her owners know exactly where she stood on all matters. She knew it was beneath the dignity of quality white folks to pay the slightest attention to what a darky said when she was just grumbling to herself. She knew that to uphold this dignity, they must ignore what she said, even if she stood in the next room and almost shouted. It protected her from reproof, and it left no doubt in anyone's mind as to her exact views on any subject._

_Howie entered the room, bearing a plate, silver and a napkin. He was followed closely by Jack, a black little boy of ten, hastily buttoning a white linen jacket with one hand and bearing in the other a fly-swisher, made of thin strips of newspaper tied to a reed longer than he was. Ellen had a beautiful peacock-feather fly-brusher, but it was used only on very special occasions and then only after domestic struggle, due to the obstinate conviction of Howie, Marva and Nan that peacock feathers were bad luck. Alice sat down in the chair which Thomas pulled out for her and four voices attacked her._

"_Mama, the lace is loose on my new ball dress and I want to wear it tomorrow night at Oakfield. Won't you please fix it?"_

"_Mother, Eugenia's new dress is prettier than mine and I look like a fright in pink. Why can't she wear my pink and let me wear her green? She looks all right in pink."_

"_Mother, can I stay up for the ball tomorrow night? I'm thirteen now-"_

"_Mrs. Rotchford, would you believe it- Hush, you girls, before I take me crop to you! Sid Throckermort was in Atlanta this morning and he says-will you be quiet and let me be hearing me own voice?- and he says it's all upset they are there and talking nothing but war, militia drilling, troops forming. And he says the news from Charleston is that they will be putting up with no more Yankee insults."_

_Alice's tired mouth smiled into the tumult as she addressed herself first to her husband, as a wife should._

"_If the nice people of Charleston feel that way, I'm sure we will all feel the same way soon," she said, for she had a deeply rooted belief that, excepting only Savannah, most of the gentleblood of the whole continent could be found in that small seaport city, a belief shared largely by Charlestonians._

"_No, __Mary Cate__, next year, dear. Then you can stay up for balls and wear grown-up dresses,__and what a good time my little pink cheeks will have! Don't pout, dear. You can go to the__barbecue, remember that, and stay up through supper, but no balls until you are fourteen._

"_Give me your gown, __Eugenia__, I will whip the lace for you after prayers._

"_Emmabeth__, I do not like your tone, dear. Your pink gown is lovely and suitable to your__complexion, __Eugenia__'s is to hers. But you may wear my garnet necklace tomorrow night."_

_Emmabeth__, behind her mother's hack, wrinkled her nose triumphantly at __Eugenia__, who had been__planning to beg the necklace for herself. __Eugenia__ put out her tongue at her. __Emmabeth__ was an__annoying sister with her whining and selfishness, and had it not been for __Alice__'s restraining__hand, __Eugenia__ would frequently have boxed her ears._

"_Now, Mr. __Rotchford__, tell me more about what Mr. __Throckermort__ said about Charleston," said __Alice__.__ Eugenia__ knew her mother cared nothing at all about war and politics and thought them__masculine matters about which no lady could intelligently concern herself. But it gave __Thomas __pleasure to air his views, and __Alice__ was unfailingly thoughtful of her husband's pleasure._

_While __Thomas__ launched forth on his news, __Nan__ set the plates before her mistress, golden__-topped biscuits, breast of fried chicken and a yellow yam open and steaming, with melted butter dripping from it. Nan pinched small Jax, and he hastened to his business of slowly swishing the paper ribbons back and forth behind Alice. Nan stood beside the table, watching every forkful that traveled from plate to mouth, as though she intended to force the food down Alice's throat should she see signs of flagging. Alice ate diligently, but Eugenia could see that she was too tired to know what she was eating. Only Nan's implacable face forced her to it._

_When the dish was empty and Thomas only midway in his remarks on the thievishness of Yankees who wanted to free darkies and yet offered no penny to pay for their freedom, Alice rose._

"_We'll be having prayers?" he questioned, reluctantly._

"_Yes. It is so late-why, it is actually ten o'clock," as the clock with coughing and tinny thumps marked the hour. "Mary Cate should have been asleep long ago. The lamp, please, Howie, and my prayer book, Nan."_

_Prompted by Nan's hoarse whisper, Jack set his fly-brush in the corner and removed the dishes, while Nan fumbled in the sideboard drawer for Alice's worn prayer book. Howie, tiptoeing, reached the ring in the chain and drew the lamp slowly down until the table topwas brightly bathed in light and the ceiling receded into shadows. Alice arranged her skirts and sank to the floor on her knees, laying the open prayer book on the table before her and clasping her hands upon it. Thomas knelt beside her, and Eugenia and Emmabeth took their accustomed places on the opposite side of the table, folding their voluminous petticoats in pads under their knees, so they would ache less from contact with the hard floor. Mary Cate, who was small for her age, could not kneel comfortably at the table and so knelt facing a chair, her elbows on the seat. She liked this position, for she seldom failed to go to sleep during prayers and, in this postures it escaped her mother's notice._

_The house servants shuffled and rustled in the hall to kneel by the doorway, Nan groaning aloud as she sank down, Howie straight as a ramrod, Maggie and Christa, the maids, graceful in their spreading bright calicoes, Marva gaunt and yellow beneath her snowy head rag, and Jack, stupid with sleep, as far away from Nan's pinching fingers as possible._

_Their dark eyes gleamed expectantly, for praying with their white folks was one of the events of the day. The old and colorful phrases of the litany with its Oriental imagery meant little to them but it satisfied something in their hearts, and they always swayed when they chanted the responses: "Lord, have mercy on us," "Christ, have mercy on us."_

_Alice closed her eyes and began praying, her voice rising and falling, lulling and soothing. Heads bowed in the circle of yellow light as Alice thanked God for the health and happiness of her home, her family and her servants._

_When she had finished her prayers for those beneath the roof of Tessaa, her father, mother, sisters, three dead babies and "all the poor souls in Purgatory," she clasped her white beads between long fingers and began the Rosary. Like the rushing of a soft wind, the responses from black throats and white throats rolled back:_

"_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."_

_Despite her heartache and the pain of unshed tears, a deep sense of quiet and peace fell upon Eugenia as it always did at this hour. Some of the disappointment of the day and the dread of the morrow departed from her, leaving a feeling of hope. It was not the lifting up of her heart to God that brought this balm, for religion went no more than lip deep with her. It was the sight of her mother's serene face upturned to the throne of God and His saints and angels, praying for blessings on those whom she loved. When Alice intervened with Heaven, Eugenia felt certain that Heaven heard._

_Alice finished and Thomas, who could never find his beads at prayer time, began furtively counting his decade on his fingers. As his voice droned on, Eugenia's thoughts strayed, in spite of herself. She knew she should be examining her conscience. Alice had taught her that at the end of each day it was her duty to examine her conscience thoroughly, to admit her numerous faults and pray to God for forgiveness and strength never to repeat them. But Eugenia was examining her heart._

_She dropped her head upon her folded hands so that her mother could not see her face, andher thoughts went sadly back to Daniel. How could he be planning to marry Amelia when he really loved her, Eugenia? And when he knew how much she loved him? How could he deliberately break her heart?_

_Then, suddenly, an idea, shining and new, flashed like a comet through her brain._

"_Why, Daniel hasn't an idea that I'm in love with him!"_

_She almost gasped aloud in the shock of its unexpectedness. Her mind stood still as if paralyzed for a long, breathless instant, and then raced forward._

"_How could he know? I've always acted so prissy and ladylike and touch-me-not around him he probably thinks I don't care a thing about him except as a friend. Yes, that's why he's never spoken! He thinks his love is hopeless. And that's why he's looked so-"_

_Her mind went swiftly back to those times when she had caught him looking at her in that strange manner, when the gray eyes that were such perfect curtains for his thoughts had been wide and naked and had in them a look of torment and despair._

"_He's been broken hearted because he thinks I'm in love with Edward or Walter or Sid. And probably he thinks that if he can't have me, he might as well please his family and marry Amelia. But if he knew I did love him-"_

_Her volatile spirits shot up from deepest depression to excited happiness. This was the answer to Daniel's reticence, to his strange conduct. He didn't know! Her vanity leaped to the aid of her desire to believe, making belief a certainty. If he knew she loved him, he would hasten to her side. She had only to-_

"_Oh!" she thought rapturously, digging her fingers into her lowered brow. "What a fool I've been not to think of this till now! I must think of some way to let him know. He wouldn't marry her if he knew I loved him! How could he?"_

_With a start, she realized that Thomas had finished and her mother's eyes were on her. Hastily she began her decade, telling off the beads automatically but with a depth of emotion in her voice that caused Nan to open her eyes and shoot a searching glance at her. As she finished her prayers and Emmabeth, then Mary Cate, began their decades, her mind was still speeding onward with her entrancing new thought._

_Even now, it wasn't too late! Too often the County had been scandalized by elopements when one or the other of the participating parties was practically at the altar with a third. And Daniel's engagement had not even been announced yet! Yes, there was plenty of time! If no love lay between Daniel and Amelia but only a promise given long ago, then why wasn't it possible for him to break that promise and marry her? Surely he would do it, if he knew that she, Eugenia, loved him. She must find some way to let him would find some way! And then-_

_Eugenia came abruptly out of her dream of delight, for she had neglected to make the responses and her mother was looking at her reprovingly. As she resumed the ritual, she opened her eyes briefly and cast a quick glance around the room. The kneeling figures, the soft glow of the lamp, the dim shadows where the servants swayed, even the familiar objects that had been so hateful to her sight an hour ago, in an instant took on the color of her own emotions, and the room seemed once more a lovely place. She would never forget this moment or this scene!_

"_Virgin most faithful," her mother intoned. The Litany of the Virgin was beginning, and obediently Scarlett responded: "Pray for us," as Alice praised in soft contralto the attributes of the Mother of God._

_As always since childhood, this was, for Eugenia, a moment for adoration of Alice, rather than the Virgin. Sacrilegious though it might be, Eugenia always saw, through her closed eyes, the upturned face of Alice and not the Blessed Virgin, as the ancient phrases were repeated. "Health of the Sick," "Seat of Wisdom," "Refuge of Sinners," "Mystical Rose"-they were beautiful because they were the attributes of Alice. But tonight, because of the exaltation of her own spirit, Eugenia found in the whole ceremonial, the softly spoken words, the murmur of the responses, a surpassing beauty beyond any that she had ever experienced before. And her heart went up to God in sincere thankfulness that a pathway for her feet had been opened-out of her misery and straight to the arms of Daniel. When the last "Amen" sounded, they all rose, somewhat stiffly, Nan being hauled to her feet by the combined efforts of Christa and Maggie. Howie took a long spiller from the mantelpiece, lit it from the lamp flame and went into the hall. Opposite the winding stair stood a walnut sideboard, too large for use in the dining room, bearing on its wide top several lamps and a long row of candles in candlesticks. Howie lit one lamp and three candles and, with the pompous dignity of a first chamberlain of the royal bedchamber lighting a king and queen to their rooms, he led the procession up the stairs, holding the light high above his head. Alice, on Thomas' arm, followed him, and the girls, each taking her own candlestick, mounted after them._

_Eugenia entered her room, set the candle on the tall chest of drawers and fumbled in the dark closet for the dancing dress that needed stitching. Throwing it across her arm, she crossed the hall quietly. The door of her parents' bedroom was slightly ajar and, before she could knock, Ellen's voice, low but stern, came to her ears._

"_Mr. Rotchford, you must dismiss William Pattison."_

_Thomas exploded. "And where will I be getting another overseer who wouldn't be cheating me out of my eyeteeth?"_

"_He must be dismissed, immediately, tomorrow morning. Big Bobby is a good foreman and hecan take over the duties until you can hire another overseer."_

"_Ah, ha!" came Thomas' voice. "So, I understand! Then the worthy William sired the-"_

"_He must be dismissed."_

"_So, he is the father of Sarah Clampitt's baby," thought Eugenia. "Oh, well, what else can you expect from a Yankee man and a white- trash girl?"_

_Then, after a discreet pause which gave Thomas' splutterings time to die away, she knocked on the door and handed the dress to her mother._

_By the time Eugenia had undressed and blown out the candle, her plan for tomorrow had worked itself out in every detail. It was a simple plan, for, with Thomas' single-mindedness of purpose, her eyes were centered on the goal and she thought only of the most direct steps by which to reach it._

_First, she would be "prideful," as Thomas had commanded. From the moment she arrived at Oakfiel, she would be her gayest, most spirited self. No one would suspect that she had ever been downhearted because of Daniel and Amelia. And she would flirt with every man there. That would be cruel to Daniel, but it would make him yearn for her all the more. She wouldn't overlook a man of marriageable age, from ginger-whiskered old Henry Grigsby, who was Emmabeth's beau, on down to shy, quiet, blushing Adam Tippett, Amelia's brother. They would swarm around her like bees around a hive, and certainly Daniel would be drawn from Melanie to join the circle of her admirers. Then somehow she would maneuver to get a few minutes alone with him, away from the crowd. She hoped everything would work out that way, because it would be more difficult otherwise. But if Daniel didn't make the first move, she would simply have to do it herself._

_When they were finally alone, he would have fresh in his mind the picture of the other men thronging about her, he would be newly impressed with the fact that every one of them wanted her, and that look of sadness and despair would be in his eyes. Then she would make him happy again by letting him discover that, popular though she was, she preferred him above any other man in all the world. And when she admitted it, modestly and sweetly, she would look a thousand things more. Of course, she would do it all in a ladylike way. She wouldn't even dream of saying to him boldly that she loved him-that would never do. But the manner of telling him was a detail that troubled her not at all. She had managed such situations before and she could do it again._

_Lying in the bed with the moonlight streaming dimly over her, she pictured the whole scene in her mind. She saw the look of surprise and happiness that would come over his face when he realized that she really loved him, and she heard the words he would say asking her to be his wife._

_Naturally, she would have to say then that she simply couldn't think of marrying a manwhen he was engaged to another girl, but he would insist and finally she would let herself be persuaded. Then they would decide to run off to Jonesboro that very afternoon and- Why, by this time tomorrow night, she might be Mrs. Daniel Montgomery! She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, and for a long happy moment she WAS Mrs. Daniel Montgomry-Daniel's bride! Then a slight chill entered her heart. Suppose it didn't work out this way? Suppose Daniel didn't beg her to run away with him? Resolutely she pushed the thought from her mind._

"_I won't think of that now," she said firmly. "If I think of it now, it will upset me. There's no reason why things won't come out the way I want them-if he loves me. And I know he does!"_

_She raised her chin and her pale, black-fringed eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Alice had never told her that desire and attainment were two different matters; life had not taught her that the race was not to the swift. She lay in the silvery shadows with courage rising and made the plans that a sixteen- year-old makes when life has been so pleasant that defeat is an impossibility and a pretty dress and a clear complexion are weapons to vanquish fate._

_..._

No, she'd never forget that day. She'd never forget.

She stood up and walked in the house.

"Marmee, what's for dinner? Soup again?"

Eugenia turned her head and saw her oldest child Katie Grace Austen, who had adopted the nickname "Cat." Cat was named after Eugenia's grandmother, Catherine Abigail Bothwell Rotchford, who Mary Cate had also been named after, and her aunt Grace Charlotte Rotchford Dormer She looked about sixteen, though she was much older.

Cat, though a sweet thing, was also fearless and fiery in spirit. She was born in 1874, in Cat's Grandpa Rotchford home land of Ireland. Her mother, who was often tired, often had a hard time keeping up with her children. But Cat kept them in line when her mother need her. She often made dinner since her mother never learned to cook, except for putting soup in the microwave (though Eugenia did make cakes and cookie and brownies and ice cream for desert as she had a rather large sweet tooth).

When Eugenia found out she was pregnant with Cat, she hoped for a daughter, one who would be like Emmy, because she hadn't been that good of a mother to Emmy, or her two children before that, Tommy and Lyssie Rose, who, like Emmy, were long dead.

She also had a great many more children from various marriages, as she was not lucky in love

The first child was Thomas Edmond, who was given the nickname "Tommy". He was named after both of his grandfather's and never had a solid father until Eugenia married her third husband, and even he left one day. When he came back years later, he was far past the age when he could have a decent relationship with him. And Tommy also harbored hard feeling for him for leaving his mother, despite the fact that Eugenia hadn't really been that great of a mother.

That was the first and only boy, she ever had.

Then was Alice Rosalie, who was usually called "Lyssie Rose". She was named after Alice Duchard Rotchford, or as Lyssie Rose would have known her Grandma Rotchford. Her middle name came from her mother's maternal Rosalie Duchard. She was always considered an ugly child.

Unlike her elder sister Elisabeth Louise, given the nickname "Emerald Bell," which had changed into "Emmy Bell" or just plain "Emmy," was considered a beautiful baby. When her father asked Nan if she had seen a lovelier one, she told him that Eugenia was pretty when she was born, but not quiet. She was named after two queens: Empress Elisabeth of Austria and Louise, Queen of Sweden and Norway She had been born in 1869, but she had died a little after her birthday, in 1872. Emmy had loved horses, and like her father, green had been her signature color. She even used the green velvet that was supposed to be a party dress for her mother as a riding habit. Her father had promised to take her to Kentucky and Virginia to be a horsewoman. Everything about Emmy reminded Eugenia of her father.

Tommy and Lyssie Rose were not very effected by the death had not affected them very much. They went to their Aunt Mally's house to play with their cousin Eugene, who had been after Eugenia, while their mother cried.

Then came Cat. Fiery and free spirited and independant to the core. But, she loved her mother very much. When Eugenia found out she was pregnant with Cat, she vowed to be a different mother than she was before, she would be a good mother. While Eugenia was in Ireland, Cat was the only child she had with her, so that made them grow even closer together.

Her fifth child was Minerva Blanche. She was called "Minnie." She looked about seventeen at the current time. She was named after Minerva Blanche Carlisle, one of Eugenia's friends. She was mischivious like her father and fiery like her mother. She was born in 1886. She was always getting away with things because she had also inherited her father's silver tongue.

Then came Maud Margaret, nicknamed "Daisy" She was born in 1893. She was her mother's very own girl. Ever since she was born, Cora was infatuated with her mother. Throughout the years, Cora watched her mother grow and become an icon of grace and femininity. It touched Eugenia that a child loved her so much. She was named after a friend named Corinne Margaret Collins, nicknamed "Molly."

Then Madeleine Cecile. She was called "Madge." She was born in 1896. She was named after Madeleine Dubois and Cecile Thebeau, two women who had been close friends of Eugenia when she was Adrienne Modisette, an famous actress in Paris, during Belle Epoque. Madge had taken a liking to acting and also wanted to be an actress when she grew up. She looked about fifteen now and exact double of her mother.

The next year Juliette Ethelie was born. She was given the nickname "Kitten" or "Kitty" as when she was younger, she would run around her house purring and pretending she was a cat. Eugenia also called her "mon chaton," meaning "my kitten" in French. She was named after Éthélie Madeleine Brohan, a French actress, a French actress, and Julienne Josephine Gauvain, who was later know as Juliette Drouet, another French actress and mistress to one of Eugenia's favorite author's, Victor Hugo. Because of their names, Cat and Kitten were very close.

Edith Colette was born in 1901. She was nicknamed "Angel," or as Eugenia would call her, "mon ange," the French word for "my angel," because she was the good girl in the family, which had come as a surprise to both of her parents. She was nothing like any of her parents. She was calm and quiet and loving, which Eugenia suspect Angel had gotten that from Alice Duchard Rotchford, Eugenia's mother and Angel's grandmother. She was probably the family beauty and she was hopeful for a husband and couldn't wait to be a mother, for she loved children dearly. She currently looked like she was about thirteen. She was named after Edith Dircksey Cowan, an Australian suffragette, and Colette Guillaumin.

Angel's twin, Christabel Clara, who was nicknamed "Honey," as she called everybody by that endearment. She was vivacious and energetic and just like her mother. She was named after Christabel Pankhurst, a British suffragette, and Clara Zetkin, a German feminist.

Next there was Genevieve Maureen, who was called "Gen," by everyone except her mother as her mother loved the name "Genevieve" so much. She was born in 1908, to Eugenia and her fourth husband. That marriage hadn't lasted because in 1913, when Gen was five, and she looked it, Eugenia began joining the woman's right's movement against her husband's wishes, and she began to take Gen to rallies and to meetings. Her husband got so angry with her and they got into an argument, so Eugenia divorced him, took Gen, and went back to fighting for women's rights. Gen was also passionate about women's rights. Though she was 104 years old, she only looked about ten.

In 1915 came Frances Irene. She was called "Fanny." She was named after her cousin Frances Annabelle Baker, her cousin and Eugenia's niece. Frances Annabelle Baker was the daughter of the daughter of Eugenia's sister Emmabeth. Though Eugenia didn't like her younger sister, she did enjoy her niece. Irene came from her nephew Eugene's child, Irene Sarah Hannidy.

Anne Isabella came just three years later in the year 1918. She was named, like Emmy Bell, after two queens. She was named after Anne Boleyn, Queen Consort of Henry VIII, and Isabella I of Castile. Anne Isabella was given the nickname "Annabella." Annabella had, in a way, filled the whole in her father's heart after Emmy Bell's death. He adored her and doted on her, more than he had any of his other children.

Then was Eleanor Mary, who had adopted the nickname "Ella May." She was named after Cora Eleanor Foley, a good friend of her's and sister of one of her lovers, Sam Foley. The name Mary came not from Ella May's aunt and Eugenia's younger sister, Mary Cate, but after Mary Pickford, her mother's favorite star of the silver screen. She was born a little after her mother moved back to Paris in 1921. She was a little spitfire like her mother and sister Cat. She currently looked like she was nine.

Next were the second twins. First came Lydia Lavinia, who was called "Lyddie." She was born in 1928. She was named after a friend that Eugenia had made when she moved to Hollywood, Lydia Henson, and a character she played in a movie, Lavinia Travers, who Eugenia had found as an inspiration. She, like Ella May, looked like she was nine. She was an exact replica of her father. She looked just like him and she was just as mischievous. There was only one thing that she inherited from her mother: her curly hair. Not the color, just the curly style of the hair. She had dreams of becoming a journalist.

The second one was Lilian Colleen. She got the nickname "Lily." She was named after two other favorite actresses of Eugenia's Lilian Gish and Colleen Moore. She was a combanation of her parents in looks, but in personality, she was nothing like them. She was a quiet and shy girl. She only had one trait that she shared with her mother, she was very creative, though Lily was far more creative than Eugenia. She was always writing lighthearted stories in the notebook her parents gave her for eighth birthday.

Ruth Joyce was born in 1936. She was given the nickname "Birdy," or sometimes Eugenia would call her "mon oiseau," meaning "my bird" in French. She was a perfect mixture of both of her parents fiery and passionate, yet mischievous and a prankster. Ruthie was named after Ruth Ellen Kent and Joyce Mildred Kent, the main characters in the novel Eugenia wrote, called Birds, which is also where she got her nickname.

Her next child was born in 1940, Eugenia gave birth again. Another girl named Dorothy Fay. She looked about eight. She was nicknamed "Doe." She was named after Dorothy Gale, from The Wizard of Oz, a film that had come out a year earlier and a film that Eugenia and her children loved. She was also named after another character Eugenia had played, Fay Kent, the mother of Ruth and Joyce Kent, in her novel Birds. She was named so because Fay Kent was inspired by Eugenia's mother, Alice Duchard Rotchford.

In 1944, Florence Estelle, who was nicknamed "Flora," or sometimes "ma fleur," meaning "my flower" in French, by Eugenia. She was a shy, sweet, little girl and her calmness and lovingness often reminded Eugenia of her grandmother.

Then came Eliza Holly. She was nicknamed "Dolly" as her sisters all had large collections of dolls and Dolly had admired them so much and would constantly ask to play with her sisters doll's. Eugenia sometimes called her "ma poupée," which was French for "my doll." She was named after two Audrey Hepburn characters, Eliza Doolittle from "My Fair Lady," and Holly Golightly from "Breakfast At Tiffany's.

Eugenia hadn't had another child since 2007. Her name was Melanie Caroline. She was nicknamed "Melly," or sometimes "ma fifille" by Eugenia because she was her mother's youngest child. She was a playful child, and for the first time, Eugenia had not named her after anybody, though she did know a few Caroline's in her life.

Cat saw the tired look on her mother's face.

"Marmee, are you alright?" Cat asked.

Eugenia gave her a warm smile.

"Yes, dear, Marmee's fine," Eugenia lied.

"You were thinking about Daddy again, weren't you?" Cat asked.

Eugenia opened her arms wide.

"Come here, dearest," said Eugenia.

Cat rushed into her mother's arms.

"Marmee, do you want me to make dinner," Cat asked kindly. "You look like you could use a nap."

'Such a sweet girl,' Eugenia thought. 'I understand how Grandma Rotchford was able to cast me out, but how could she cast out Cat?"

"I hate to ask you to, but if you wouldn't mind?" Eugenia asked.

"It's alright, Marmee" Cat smiled. "We don't need a repeat of what happened last time you were tired and alone."

"I'm not alone, dearest," said Eugenia warmly. "I have you. And the rest of the girls."

"Marmee, go take a nap," said Cat, almost ordierng her mother to take a nap.

Eugenia smiled.

"Alright, my dear," said Eugenia, kissing her daughter's forehead.

Eugenia was about to walk upstairs but Madge stopped her.

"Marmee!" Madge called. "Marmee!"

Eugenia turned around and looked at her daughter.

"Yes, sweetie, what is is?" Eugenia asked.

"I heard a knock at the door," Madge started. "I opened it, but there was no one there. I looked down and I saw this on the ground."

Madge held out a envelope.

"I think it's from Daddy," Madge added excitedly.

Eugenia's eyes widened and she held out her hand.

"Give it here, dear," Eugenia ordered.

Madge handed the letter to Eugenia and Eugenia began making her way back up the stairs.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Madge asked.

Eugenia nodded tiredly.

"I'll read it in my room," said Eugenia without turning around.

Eugenia made it back up to her room. She laid down in bed and opened the letter.

_Dear Mrs. Porter,_

_So you're alive. I'm surprised, you actually managed to fool me. They were not jesting when they named you one of the greatest actresses of all time._

_But that is not the only reason I am writing to you. I am soon to be King of Midgard and I am not going to rule without my children being given the proper respect they deserve. I will be visiting you soon to collect Katie Grace Lokidottir, Minerva Blanche Lokidottir, Maud Margaret Lokidottir, Madeleine Cecile Lokidottir, Juliette Ethelie Lokidottir, Edith Colette Lokidottir, Christabel Clara Lokidottir, Frances Irene Lokidottir, Anne Isabella Lokidottir, Eleanor Mary Lokidottir, Lydia Lavinia Lokidottir, Lilian Colleen Lokidottir, Ruth Joyce Lokidottir, Dorothy Fay Lokidottir and Florence Estelle Lokidottir_

_I considered coming to collect you, but considering our luck, or lack there of, in a relationship, I decided it would be best if we didn't make another attempt at one._

_Your Husband,_

_"Lucas Porter"_

_P. S. I also included your ring. I believe you agreed with your friend Liz when she said "Big girls need big diamonds." And I distinctly remember one of you once said "Diamonds are a girls best friend."_

Eugenia gasped when she read the letter. Loki wanted the children. No. What right did he have to them. They haven't seen him since 1961 and now suddenly he wanted them. It didn't work that way. Eugenia would rather die than give up her children.

Eugenia tore up the letter and threw it on the floor. She took a large diamond ring out of the envelope and threw it out the window while she scowled.

She turned over on her bed and went to sleep.

...

_She was surrounded by fog. She didn't know where she was going, but she started running. She was trying to find something. She didn't know what she was trying to find, but she was trying to find something._

_She looked up and saw a light through the fog. She was going in the right direction! She doubled her speed and ran towards the light._

_She finally found it. It came from an opulant house atop a hill. Suddenly, she remembered what she was looking for. Her husband: Loki!_

_A smile broke out on her face and she ran inside._

_"Loki!" she called. "Loki, I realized something! I love you! I love you!"_

_She ran up to the room the light was coming from, but nobody was there._

_"Loki!" she called desperately. "Loki, please! I love you!"_

_She ran back downstairs and saw Loki leaving through the front door._

_"Loki wait!"_

_But Loki didn't stop. He just continued out the front door._

...

"No!" Eugenia cried, thrashing about in her sleep. "No! Don't leave me! You can't leave me! I love you, I love you!"

"Marmee!" Cat exclaimed trying to hold her mother down. "Marmee! Wake up!"

"Marmee, please!" Madge begged as she also tried to hold her mother down.

Cora was with them, though she was pacing in front of the bed, terrified out of her mind.

Eugenia's thrashing subsided a moment later but she was sobbing and crying.

"Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."

She was now just lying in the bed sobbing. Madge sat on the bed holding her mother's hand and Cat sat on the ground holding her mother's hand. Cora still paced with panic.

...

Eventually Eugenia woke up and saw her daughters. They all had worried looks on their faces.

"Oh, dears," Eugenia sighed.

"Marmee," Cat sighed with relief.

Cora ran up to her mother and wrapped her arms around her.

"Bring me Lyddie," said Eugenia in a strained voice.

Madge stood up and brought Lyddie to their mother.

"Come lie in bed with Marmee," said Eugenia.

Lyddie did as her mother instructed.

"You remind so much of your father," Eugenia said before they both drifted off into sleep.


	2. His Return

Part One, Chapter Two

His Return

...

Eugenia awoke the next morning. She was looking into Lyddie's green eyes.

"Morning, Marmee," said Lyddie.

"Good morning, dear," said Eugenia smiling.

"Are you feeling better?" Lyddie asked with concern.

"Yes, dearest," said Eugenia, her smiled fading. "Marmee's fine."

Eugenia heard a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Eugenia called.

"Cat and Madge," came the voice at the other end of the door.

Eugenia's smile returned.

"Come in, darlings," Eugenia said lightly.

The door opened and the two girls walked inside.

"Marmee are you feeling all right?" Cat asked.

"Yes, I'm all right," said Eugenia. "It was just a bad night, a bad dream."

Little Melly came running in the room.

"Marmee, there's someone at the door," she said in her adorable voice.

"Did they tell you their name," Eugenia asked.

Melly shook her head.

"No," she said. "But he said he's an old friend of yours."

Eugenia stood up and put on her navy blue dressing gown over her long navy blue lace-trimmed nightgown and walked down the stairs.

Eugenia reached the door and opened it.

"Hello, how may I-" Eugenia gasped and her eyes went wide. "L-Loki?"

"Hello, Mrs. Porter."

...

_It was ten o'clock in the morning. The day was warm for April and the golden sunlight streamed brilliantly into Eugenia's room through the blue curtains of the wide windows. The cream-colored walls glowed with light and the depths of the mahogany furniture gleamed deep red like wine, while the floor glistened as if it were glass, except where the rag rugs covered it and they were spots of gay color._

_Already summer was in the air, the first hint of Georgia summer when the high tide of spring gives way reluctantly before a fiercer heat. A balmy, soft warmth poured into the room, heavy with velvety smells, redolent of many blossoms, of newly fledged trees and of the moist, freshly turned red earth. Through the windo Eugenia could see the bright riot of the twin lanes of daffodils bordering the graveled driveway and the golden masses of yellow jessamine spreading flowery sprangles modestly to the earth like crinolines. The mockingbirds and the jays, engaged in their old feud for possession of the magnolia tree beneath her window, were bickering, the jays strident, acrimonious, the mockers sweet voiced and plaintive._

_Such a glowing morning usually called Eugenia to the window, to lean arms on the broad sill and drink in the scents and sounds of Tessa. But, today she had no eye for sun or azure sky beyond a hasty thought, "Thank God, it isn't raining." On the bed lay the apple-green, watered-silk ball dress with its festoons of ecru lace, neatly packed in a large cardboard box. It was ready to be carried to Oakfield to be donned before the dancing began, but Eugenia shrugged at the sight of it. If her plans were successful, she would not wear that dress tonight. Long before the ball began, she and Daniel would be on their way to Jonesboro to be married. The troublesome question was-what dress should she wear to the barbecue? What dress would best set off her charms and make her most irresistible to Daniel? Since eight o'clock she had been trying on and rejecting dresses, and now she stood dejected and irritable in lace pantalets, linen corset cover and three billowing lace and linen petticoats. Discarded garments lay about her on the floor, the bed, the chairs, in bright heaps of color and straying ribbons._

_The rose organdie with long pink sash was becoming, but she had worn it last summer when Amelia visited Oakfield and she'd be sure to remember it. And might be catty enough to mention it. The black bombazine, with its puffed sleeves and princess lace collar, set off her white skin superbly, but it did make her look a trifle elderly. Eugenia peered anxiously in the mirror at her sixteen-year-old face as if expecting to see wrinkles and sagging chin muscles. It would never do to appear sedate and elderly before Amelia's sweet youthfulness. The lavender barred muslin was beautiful with those wide insets of lace and net about the hem, but it had never suited her type. It would suit Mary Cate's delicate profileand wishy-washy expression perfectly, but Scarlett felt that it made her look like a schoolgirl._

_It would never do to appear schoolgirlish beside Amelia's poised self. The green plaid taffeta, frothing with flounces and each flounce edged in green velvet ribbon, was most becoming, in fact her favorite dress, for it darkened her eyes to emerald. But there was unmistakably a grease spot on the front of the basque. Of course, her brooch could be pinned over the spot, but perhaps Amelia had sharp eyes. There remained varicolored cotton dresses which Eugenia felt were not festive enough for the occasion, ball dresses and the green sprigged muslin she had worn yesterday. But it was an afternoon dress. It was not suitable for a barbecue, for it had only tiny puffed sleeves and the neck was low enough for a dancing dress. But there was nothing else to do but wear it. After all she was not ashamed of her neck and arms and bosom, even if it was not correct to show them in the morning. As she stood before the mirror and twisted herself about to get a side view, she thought that there was absolutely nothing about her figure to cause her shame. Her neck was short but rounded and her arms plump and enticing. Her breasts, pushed high by her stays, were very nice breasts. She had never had to sew tiny rows of silk ruffles in the lining of her basques, as most sixteen-year-old girls did, to give their figures the desired curves and fullness. She was glad she had inherited Alice's slender white hands and tiny feet, and she wished she had Alice's height, too, but her own height pleased her very well. What a pity legs could not be shown, she thought, pulling up her petticoats and regretfully viewing them, plump and neat under pantalets. She had such nice legs. Even the girls at the Fayetteville Academy had admitted as much. And as for her waist-there was no one in Fayetteville, Jonesboro or in three counties, for that matter, who had so small a waist._

_The thought of her waist brought her back to practical matters. The green muslin measured seventeen inches about the waist, and Nan had laced her for the eighteen-inch bombazine. Nan would have to lace her tighter. She pushed open the door, listened and heard Nan's heavy tread in the downstairs hall. She shouted for her impatiently, knowing she could raise her voice with impunity, as Alice was in the smokehouse, measuring out the day's food to Marva._

"_Some folks thinks as how Ah kin fly," grumbled Nan, shuffling up the stairs. She entered puffing, with the expression of one who expects battle and welcomes it. In her large black hands was a tray upon which food smoked, two large yams covered with butter, a pile of buckwheat cakes dripping syrup, and a large slice of ham swimming in gravy. Catching sight of Nan's burden, Eugenia's expression changed from one of minor irritation to obstinate belligerency. In the excitement of trying on dresses she had forgotten Nan's ironclad rule that, before going to any party, the Rotchford girls must be crammed so full of food at home they would be unable to eat any refreshments at the party._

"_It's no use. I won't eat it. You can just take it back to the kitchen."_

_Nan set the tray on the table and squared herself, hands on hips._

"_Yas'm, you is! Ah ain' figgerin' on havin' happen whut happen at dat las' barbecue w'en Ahwuz too sick frum dem chittlins Ah et ter fetch you no tray befo' you went. You is gwine eat eve'y bite of dis."_

"_I am not! Now, come here and lace me tighter because we are late already. I heard the carriage come round to the front of the house."_

_Nan's tone became wheedling._

"_Now, Miss Eugenia, you be good an' come eat jes'a lil. Miss Mary Cate an' Miss Emmabeth done eat all dey'n."_

"_They would," said Eugenia contemptuously. "They haven't any more spirit than a rabbit. But I won't! I'm through with trays. I'm not forgetting the time I ate a whole tray and went to the Throckermort's and they had ice cream out of ice they'd brought all the way from Savannah, and I couldn't eat but a spoonful. I'm going to have a good time today and eat as much as I please."_

_At this defiant heresy, Nan's brow lowered with indignation. What a young miss could do and what she could not do were as different as black and white in Nan's mind; there was no middle ground of deportment between. Emmabeth and Mary Cate were clay in her powerful hands and harkened respectfully to her warning. But it had always been a struggle to teach Scarlett that most of her natural impulses were unladylike. Nan's victories over Eugenia were hard-won and represented guile unknown to the white mind._

"_Ef you doan care 'bout how folks talks 'bout dis fainbly, Ah does," she rumbled. "Ah ain' gwine stand by an' have eve'ybody at de pahty sayin' how you ain' fotched up right. Ah has tole you an' tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by dat she eat lak a bird. An' Ah ain' aimin' ter have you go ter Mist' Montgomery's an' eat lak a fe'el han' an' gobble lak a hawg."_

"_Ma is a lady and she eats," countered Scarlett._

"_W'en you is mahied, you kin eat, too," retorted Nan. "W'en Miss Alice yo' age, she never et nuthin' w'en she went out, an' needer yo' Aunt Marguarite nor yo' Aunt Rosalie. And dey all done mahied. Young misses whut eats heavy mos' gener'ly doan never ketch husbands."_

"_I don't believe it. At that barbecue when you were sick and I didn't eat beforehand, Daniel Montgomery told me he LIKED to see a girl with a healthy appetite."_

_Nan shook her head ominously._

"_Whut gempmums says an' whut dey thinks is two diffunt things. An' Ah ain' noticed Mist' Montgomery's axing fer ter mahy you."_

_Eugenia scowled, started to speak sharply and then caught herself. Nan had her there and there was no argument. Seeing the obdurate look on Eugenia's face, Nan picked up the tray and, with the bland guile of her race, changed her tactics. As she started for the door, she sighed._

"_Well'm, awright. Ah wuz tellin' Marva w'ile she wuz a-fixin' dis tray. 'You kin sho tell a lady by whut she DOAN eat,' an' Ah say ter Marva. 'Ah ain' seed no w'ite lady who et less'n Miss Mally Tippett did las' time she wuz visitin' Mist' Daniel'-Ah means, visitin' Miss Lucy."_

_Eugenia shot a look of sharp suspicion at her, but Nan's broad face carried only a look of innocence and of regret that Scarlett was not the lady Amelia was._

"_Put down that tray and come lace me tighter," said Eugenia irritably. "And I'll try to eat a little afterwards. If I ate now I couldn't lace tight enough."_

_Cloaking her triumph, Nan set down the tray._

"_Whut mah lamb gwine wear?"_

"_That," answered Eugenia, pointing at the fluffy mass of green flowered muslin. Instantly Nan was in arms._

"_No, you ain'. It ain' fittin' fer mawnin'. You kain show yo' buzzum befo' three o'clock an' dat dress ain' got no neck an' no sleeves. An' you'll git freckled sho as you born, an' Ah ain' figgerin' on you gittin' freckled affer all de buttermilk Ah been puttin' on you all dis winter, bleachin' dem freckles you got at Savannah settin' on de beach. Ah sho gwine speak ter yo' Ma 'bout you."_

"_If you say one word to her before I'm dressed I won't eat a bite," said Scarlett coolly. "Ma won't have time to send me back to change once I'm dressed."_

_Nan sighed resignedly, beholding herself outguessed. Between the two evils, it was better to have Scarlett wear an afternoon dress at a morning barbecue than to have her gobble like a hog._

"_Hole onter sumpin' an' suck in yo' breaf," she commanded._

_Eugenia obeyed, bracing herself and catching firm hold of one of the bedposts. Nan pulled and jerked vigorously and, as the tiny circumference of whalebone-girdled waist grew smaller, a proud, fond look came into her eyes._

"_Ain' nobody got a wais' lak mah lamb," she said approvingly. "Eve'y time Ah pulls Miss Emmabeth littler dan twenty inches, she up an' faint."_

"_Pooh!" gasped Eugenia, speaking with difficulty. "I never fainted in my life."_

"_Well, 'twouldn' do no hahm ef you wuz ter faint now an' den," advised Nan. "You is so brash sometimes, Miss Eugenia. Ah been aimin' ter tell you, it jes' doan look good de way you doan faint 'bout snakes an' mouses an' sech. Ah doan mean round home but w'en you is out in comp'ny. An' Ah has tole you an'-"_

"_Oh, hurry! Don't talk so much. I'll catch a husband. See if I don't, even if I don't scream and faint. Goodness, but my stays are tight! Put on the dress."_

_Nan carefully dropped the twelve yards of green sprigged muslin over the mountainous petticoats and hooked up the back of the tight, low-cut basque._

"_You keep yo' shawl on yo' shoulders w'en you is in de sun, an' doan you go takin' off yo' hat w'en you is wahm," she commanded. "Elsewise you be comin' home lookin' brown lak Ole Miz Clampitt. Now, you come eat, honey, but doan eat too fas'. No use havin' it come right back up agin."_

_Eugenia obediently sat down before the tray, wondering if she would be able to get any food into her stomach and still have room to breathe. Nan plucked a large towel from the washstand and carefully tied it around Eugenia's neck, spreading the white folds over her lap. Scarlett began on the ham, because she liked ham, and forced it down._

"_I wish to Heaven I was married," she said resentfully as she attacked the yams with loathing. "I'm tired of everlastingly being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I'm tired of acting like I don't eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint after a waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I'm tired of saying, 'How wonderful you are!' to fool men who haven't got one-half the sense I've got, and I'm tired of pretending I don't know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they're doing it. . . . I can't eat another bite."_

"_Try a hot cake," said Mammy inexorably._

"_Why is it a girl has to be so silly to catch a husband?" _

"_Ah specs it's kase gempmums doan know whut dey wants. Dey jes' knows whut dey thinks dey wants. An' givin' dem whut dey thinks dey wants saves a pile of mizry an' bein' a ole maid. An' dey thinks dey wants mousy lil gals wid bird's tastes an' no sense at all. It doan make a gempmum feel lak mahyin' a lady ef he suspicions she got mo' sense dan he has."_

"_Don't you suppose men get surprised after they're married to find that their wives do have sense?"_

"_Well, it's too late den. Dey's already mahied. 'Sides, gempmums specs dey wives ter have sense."_

"_Some day I'm going to do and say everything I want to do and say, and if people don't like it I don't care."_

"_No, you ain'," said Mammy grimly. "Not while Ah got breaf. You eat dem cakes. Sop dem in de gravy, honey."_

"_I don't think Yankee girls have to act like such fools. When we were at Saratoga last year, I noticed plenty of them acting like they had right good sense and in front of men, too._

_Nan snorted._

"_Yankee gals! Yas'm, Ah guess dey speaks dey minds awright, but Ah ain' noticed many of dem gittin' proposed ter at Saratoga."_

"_But Yankees must get married," argued Eugenia. "They don't just grow. They must get married and have children. There's too many of them."_

"_Men mahys dem fer dey money," said Nan firmly._

_Eugenia sopped the wheat cake in the gravy and put it in her mouth. Perhaps there was something to what Nan said. There must be something in it, for Alice said the same things, in different and more delicate words. In fact, the mothers of all her girl friends impressed on their daughters the necessity of being helpless, clinging, doe-eyed creatures. Really, it took a lot of sense to cultivate and hold such a pose. Perhaps she had been too brash. Occasionally she had argued with Daniel and frankly aired her opinions. Perhaps this and her healthy enjoyment of walking and riding had turned him from her to the frail Amelia. Perhaps if she changed her tactics- But she felt that if Daniel succumbed to premeditated feminine tricks, she could never respect him as she now did. Any man who was fool enough to fall for a simper, a faint and an "Oh, how wonderful you are!" wasn't worth having. But they all seemed to like it._

_If she had used the wrong tactics with Daniel in the past-well, that was the past and done with. Today she would use different ones, the right ones. She wanted him and she had only a few hours in which to get him. If fainting, or pretending to faint, would do the trick, then she would faint. If simpering, coquetry or empty-headedness would attract him, she would gladly play the flirt and be more empty-headed than even Samantha Throckermort. And if bolder measures were necessary, she would take them. Today was the day!_

_There was no one to tell Eugenia that her own personality, frighteningly vital though it was, was more attractive than any masquerade she might adopt. Had she been told, she would have been pleased but unbelieving. And the civilization of which she was a part would have been unbelieving too, for at no time, before or since, had so low a premium been placed on feminine naturalness. As the carriage bore her down the red road toward the Montgomery's plantation, Eugenia had a feeling of guilty pleasure that neither her mother nor Nan was with the party. There would be no one at the barbecue who, by delicately lifted brows or out-thrust underlip, could interfere with her plan of action. Of course, Emmabeth would be certain to tell tales tomorrow, but if all went as Eugenia hoped, the excitement of the family over her engagement to Daniel or her elopement would more than overbalance their displeasure. Yes, she was very glad Alice had been forced to stay at home._

_Thomas, primed with brandy, had given William Pattison his dismissal that morning, and Ellen had remained at Tessa to go over the accounts of the plantation before he took his departure. Eugenia had kissed her mother good-by in the little office where she sat before the tall secretary with its paper-stuffed pigeonholes. William Pattison, hat in hand, stood beside her, his sallow tight-skinned face hardly concealing the fury of hate that possessed him at being so unceremoniously turned out of the best overseer's job in the County. And all because of a bit of minor philandering. He had told Thomas over and over that Sarah Clampitt's baby might have been fathered by any one of a dozen men as easily as himself-an idea in which Thomas concurred-but that had not altered his case so far as Alice was concerned. _

_William hated all Southerners. He hated their cool courtesy to him and their contempt for his social status, so inadequately covered by their courtesy. He hated Alice Rotchford above anyone else, for she was the epitome of all that he hated in Southerners. Nan, as head woman of the plantation, had remained to help Alice, and it was Lori who rode on the driver's seat beside Tobias, the girls' dancing dresses in a long box across her lap. Thomas rode beside the carriage on his big hunter, warm with brandy and pleased with himself for having gotten through with the unpleasant business of Pattison so speedily. He had shoved the responsibility onto Alice, and her disappointment at missing the barbecue and the gathering of her friends did not enter his mind; for it was a fine spring day and his fields were beautiful and the birds were singing and he felt too young and frolicsome to think of anyone else. Occasionally he burst out with "Peg in a Low- backed Car" and other Irish ditties or the more lugubrious lament for Simon Smith, "She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps."_

_He was happy, pleasantly excited over the prospect of spending the day shouting about the Yankees and the war, and proud of his three pretty daughters in their bright spreading hoop skirts beneath foolish little lace parasols. He gave no thought to his conversation of the day before with Eugenia, for it had completely slipped his mind. He only thought that she was pretty and a great credit to him and that, today, her eyes were as green as the hills of Ireland. The last thought made him think better of himself, for it had a certain poetic ring to it, and so he favored the girls with a loud and slightly off-key rendition of "The Wearin' o' the Green." Scarlett, looking at him with the affectionate contempt that mothers feel for small swaggering sons, knew that he would be very drunk by sundown. Coming home in the dark, he would try, as usual, to jump every fence between Oakfield and Tessa and, she hoped, by the mercy of Providence and the good sense of his horse, would escape breaking his neck. Hewould disdain the bridge and swim his horse through the river and come home roaring, to be put to bed on the sofa in the office by Pork who always waited up with a lamp in the front hall on such occasions._

_He would ruin his new gray broadcloth suit, which would cause him to swear horribly in the morning and tell Alice at great length how his horse fell off the bridge in the darkness-a palpable lie which would fool no one but which would be accepted by all and make him feel very clever._

_Daddy is a sweet, selfish, irresponsible darling, Scarlett thought, with a surge of affection for him._

_She felt so excited and happy this morning that she included the whole world, as well as Thomas, in her affection. She was pretty and she knew it; she would have Daniel for her own before the day was over; the sun was warm and tender and the glory of the Georgia spring was spread before her eyes. Along the roadside the blackberry brambles were concealing with softest green the savage red gulches cut by the winter's rains, and the bare granite boulders pushing up through the red earth were being draped with sprangles of Cherokee roses and compassed about by wild violets of palest purple hue. Upon the wooded hills above the river, the dogwood blossoms lay glistening and white, as if snow still lingered among the greenery. The flowering crab trees were bursting their buds and rioting from delicate white to deepest pink and, beneath the trees where the sunshine dappled the pine straw, the wild honeysuckle made a varicolored carpet of scarlet and orange and rose. There was a faint wild fragrance of sweet shrub on the breeze and the world smelled good enough to eat._

"_I'll remember how beautiful this day is till I die," thought Eugenia. "Perhaps it will be my wedding day!"_

_And she thought with a tingling in her heart how she and Daniel might ride swiftly through this beauty of blossom and greenery this very afternoon, or tonight by moonlight, toward Jonesboro and a preacher. Of course, she would have to be remarried by a priest from Atlanta, but that would be something for Alice and Thomas to worry about. She quailed a little as she thought how white with mortification Alice would be at hearing that her daughter had eloped with another girl's fiance, but she knew Alice would forgive her when she saw her happiness. And Thomas would scold and bawl but, for all his remarks of yesterday about not wanting her to marry Daniel, he would be pleased beyond words at an alliance between his family and the Montgomery's._

"_But that'll be something to worry about after I'm married," she thought, tossing the worry from her._

_It was impossible to feel anything but palpitating joy in this warm sun, in this spring, with the chimneys of Oakfield just beginning to show on the hill across the river. "I'll live there all my life and I'll see fifty springs like this and maybe more, and I'll tell my children and my grandchildren how beautiful this spring was, lovelier than any they'll eversee." She was so happy at this thought that she joined in the last chorus of "The Wearin' o' the Green" and won Thomas' shouted approval._

"_I don't know why you're so happy this morning," said Emmabeth crossly, for the thought still rankled in her mind that she would look far better in Eugenia's green silk dancing frock than its rightful owner would. And why was Eugenia always so selfish about lending her clothes and bonnets? And why did Mother always back her up, declaring green was not Emmabeth's color? "You know as well as I do that Daniel's engagement is going to be announced tonight. Pa said so this morning. And I know you've been sweet on him for months."_

"_That's all you know," said Eugenia, putting out her tongue and refusing to lose her good humor. How surprised Miss Emma would be by this time tomorrow morning!_

"_Emma, you know that's not so," protested Mary Cate, shocked. "It's Edward that Eugenia cares about."_

_Eugenia turned smiling plum-colored eyes upon her younger sister, wondering how anyone could be so sweet. The whole family knew that Mary Cate's thirteen-year-old heart was set upon Edward, who never gave her a thought except as Eugenia's baby sister. When Alice was not present, the Rotchford's teased her to tears about him._

"_Darling, I don't care a thing about Edward," declared Eugenia, happy enough to be generous. "And he doesn't care a thing about me. Why, he's waiting for you to grow up!"_

_Mary Cate's round little face became pink, as pleasure struggled with incredulity._

"_Oh, Eugenia, really?"_

"_Eugenia, you know Mother said Mary Cate was too young to think about beaux yet, and there you go putting ideas in her head."_

"_Well, go and tattle and see if I care," replied Eugenia. "You want to hold Sissy back, because you know she's going to be prettier than you in a year or so."_

"_You'll be keeping civil tongues in your heads this day, or I'll be taking me crop to you," warned Thomas. "Now whist! Is it wheels I'm hearing? That'll be the Babcock's or the Banks'."_

_As they neared the intersecting road that came down the thickly wooded hill from Mimosa and Fairhill, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels became plainer and clamorous feminine voices raised in pleasant dispute sounded from behind the screen of trees. Thomas, riding ahead, pulled up his horse and signed to Toby to stop the carriage where the two roads met._

"'_Tis the Babcock ladies," he announced to his daughters, his florid face abeam, for excepting Alice there was no lady in the County he liked more than the red-haired Mrs. Babcock. "And 'tis herself at the reins. Ah, there's a woman with fine hands for a horse! Feather light and strong as rawhide, and pretty enough to kiss for all that. More's the pity none of you have such hands," he added, casting fond but reproving glances at his girls. "With Mary Cate afraid of the poor beasts and Emma with hands like sadirons when it comes to reins and you, Puss-"_

"_Well, at any rate I've never been thrown," cried Eugenia indignantly. "And Mrs. Babcock takes a toss at every hunt."_

"_And breaks a collar bone like a man," said Thomas. "No fainting, no fussing. Now, no more of it, for here she comes."_

_He stood up in his stirrups and took off his hat with a sweep, as the Tarleton carriage, overflowing with girls in bright dresses and parasols and fluttering veils, came into view, with Mrs. Babcock on the box as Thomas had said. With her four daughters, their Nan and their ball dresses in long cardboard boxes crowding the carriage, there was no room for the coachman. And, besides, Augusta Babcock never willingly permitted anyone, black or white, to hold reins when her arms were out of slings. Frail, fine-boned, so white of skin that her flaming hair seemed to have drawn all the color from her face into its vital burnished mass, she was nevertheless possessed of exuberant health and untiring energy. She had borne eight children, as red of hair and as full of life as she, and had raised them most successfully, so the County said, because she gave them all the loving neglect and the stern discipline she gave the colts she bred. "Curb them but don't break their spirits," was Mrs. Babcocks's motto._

_She loved horses and talked horses constantly. She understood them and handled them better than any man in the County. Colts overflowed the paddock onto the front lawn, even as her eight children overflowed the rambling house on the hill, and colts and sons and daughters and hunting dogs tagged after her as she went about the plantation. She credited her horses, especially her red mare, Nell, with human intelligence; and if the cares of the house kept her busy beyond the time when she expected to take her daily ride, she put the sugar bowl in the hands of some small pickaninny and said: "Give Nell a handful and tell her I'll be out terrectly."_

_Except on rare occasions she always wore her riding habit, for whether she rode or not she always expected to ride and in that expectation put on her habit upon arising. Each morning, rain or shine, Nell was saddled and walked up and down in front of the house, waiting for the time when Mrs. Babcock could spare an hour away from her duties. But Fairhill was a difficult plantation to manage and spare time hard to get, and more often than not Nell walked up and down riderless hour after hour, while Augusta Babcock went through the day with the skirt of her habit absently looped over her arm and six inches of shining boot showing below it._

_Today, dressed in dull black silk over unfashionably narrow hoops, she still looked as though in her habit, for the dress was as severely tailored as her riding costume and the small blackhat with its long black plume perched over one warm, twinkling, brown eye was a replica of the battered old hat she used for hunting._

_She waved her whip when she saw Thomas and drew her dancing pair of red horses to a halt, and the four girls in the back of the carriage leaned out and gave such vociferous cries of greeting that the team pranced in alarm. To a casual observer it would seem that years had passed since the Babcock's had seen the Rotchford's, instead of only two days. But they were a sociable family and liked their neighbors, especially the O'Hara girls. That is, they liked Emmabeth and Mary Cate. No girl in the County, with the possible exception of the empty-headed Samantha Throckermort, really liked Scarlett._

_In summers, the County averaged a barbecue and ball nearly every week, but to the red-haired Tarletons with their enormous capacity for enjoying themselves, each barbecue and each ball was as exciting as if it were the first they had ever attended. They were a pretty, buxom quartette, so crammed into the carriage that their hoops and flounces overlapped and their parasols nudged and bumped together above their wide leghorn sun hats, crowned with roses and dangling with black velvet chin ribbons. All shades of red hair were represented beneath these hats, Tilly's plain red hair, Mittie's strawberry blonde, Rhoda's coppery auburn and small Ellie's carrot top._

"_That's a fine bevy, Ma'm," said Thomas gallantly, reining his horse alongside the carriage. "But it's far they'll go to beat their mother."_

_Mrs. Babcock rolled her red-brown eyes and sucked in her lower lip in burlesqued appreciation, and the girls cried, "Ma, stop making eyes or we'll tell Pa!" "I vow, Mr. Rotchford, she never gives us a chance when there's a handsome man like you around!"_

_Eugenia laughed with the rest at these sallies but, as always, the freedom with which the Babcock's treated their mother came as a shock. They acted as if she were one of themselves and not a day over sixteen. To Eugenia, the very idea of saying such things to her own mother was almost sacrilegious. And yet-and yet-there was something very pleasant about the Babcock girls' relations with their mother, and they adored her for all that they criticized and scolded and teased her. Not, Eugenia loyally hastened to tell herself, that she would prefer a mother like Mrs. Babcock to Alice, but still it would be fun to romp with a mother. She knew that even that thought was disrespectful to Alice and felt ashamed of it. She knew no such troublesome thoughts ever disturbed the brains under the four flaming thatches in the carriage and, as always when she felt herself different from her neighbors, an irritated confusion fell upon her._

_Quick though her brain was, it was not made for analysis, but she half-consciously realized that, for all the Tarleton girls were as unruly as colts and wild as March hares, there was an unworried single-mindedness about them that was part of their inheritance. On both their mother's and their father's side they were Georgians, north Georgians, only a generation away from pioneers. They were sure of themselves and of their environment. They knew instinctively what they were about, as did the Montgomery's, though in widely divergent ways,and in them there was no such conflict as frequently raged in Eugenia's bosom where the blood of a soft- voiced, overbred Coast aristocrat mingled with the shrewd, earthy blood of an Irish peasant. Eugenia wanted to respect and adore her mother like an idol and to rumple her hair and tease her too. And she knew she should be altogether one way or the other. It was the same conflicting emotion that made her desire to appear a delicate and high-bred lady with boys and to be, as well, a hoyden who was not above a few kisses._

"_Where's Alice this morning?" asked Mrs. Babcock._

"_She's after discharging our overseer and stayed home to go over the accounts with him. Where's himself and the lads?"_

"_Oh, they rode over to Oakfield hours ago-to sample the punch and see if it was strong enough, I dare say, as if they wouldn't have from now till tomorrow morning to do it! I'm going to ask Clarence Montgomery to keep them overnight, even if he has to bed them down in the stable. Five men in their cups are just too much for me. Up to three, I do very well but-"_

_Thomas hastily interrupted to change the subject. He could feel his own daughters snickering behind his back as they remembered in what condition he had come home from the Montgomery's last barbecue the autumn before._

"_And why aren't you riding today, Mrs. Babcock? Sure, you don't look yourself at all without Nell. It's a stentor, you are."_

"_A stentor, me ignorant broth of a boy!" cried Mrs. Babcock, aping his brogue. "You mean a centaur. Stentor was a man with a voice like a brass gong."_

"_Stentor or centaur, 'tis no matter," answered Thomas, unruffled by his error. "And 'tis a voice like brass you have, Ma'm, when you're urging on the hounds, so it is."_

"_That's one on you, Ma," said Ellie. "I told you you yelled like a Comanche whenever you saw a fox."_

"_But not as loud as you yell when Nan washes your ears," returned Mrs. Babcocl. "And you sixteen! Well, as to why I'm not riding today, Nell foaled early this morning." _

"_Did she now!" cried Thomas with real interest, his Irishman's passion for horses shining in his eyes, and Eugenia again felt the sense of shock in comparing her mother with Mrs. Babcock. To Alice, mares never foaled nor cows calved. In fact, hens almost didn't lay eggs. Alice ignored these matters completely. But Mrs. Babcock had no such reticences._

"_A little filly, was it?"_

"_No, a fine little stallion with legs two yards long. You must ride over and see him, Mr. Rotchford. He's a real Tarleton horse. He's as red as Ellie's curls."_

"_And looks a lot like Ellie, too," said Mitty, and then disappeared shrieking amid a welter of skirts and pantalets and bobbing hats, as Ellie, who did have a long face, began pinching her._

"_My fillies are feeling their oats this morning," said Mrs. Babcock. "They've been kicking up their heels ever since we heard the news this morning about Daniel and that little cousin of his from Atlanta. What's her name? Amelia? Bless the child, she's a sweet little thing, but I can never remember either her name or her face. Our cook is the broad wife of the Montgomery's butler, and he was over last night with the news that the engagement would be announced tonight and Marva told us this morning. The girls are all excited about it, though I can't see why. Everybody's known for years that Daniel would marry her, that is, if he didn't marry one of his Hampton cousins from Macon. Just like Ann Montgomery is going to marry Amelia's brother, Adam. Now, tell me, Mr. Rotchford, is it illegal for the Montgomery's to marry outside of their family? Because if-"_

_Eugenia did not hear the rest of the laughing words. For one short instant, it was as though the sun had ducked behind a cool cloud, leaving the world in shadow, taking the color out of things. The freshly green foliage looked sickly, the dogwood pallid, and the flowering crab, so beautifully pink a moment ago, faded and dreary. Scarlett dug her fingers into the upholstery of the carriage and for a moment her parasol wavered. It was one thing to know that Daniel was engaged but it was another to hear people talk about it so casually. Then her courage flowed strongly back and the sun came out again and the landscape glowed anew._

_She knew Daniel loved her. That was certain. And she smiled as she thought how surprised Mrs. Babcock would be when no engagement was announced that night-how surprised if there were an elopement. And she'd tell neighbors what a sly boots Eugenia was to sit there and listen to her talk about Amelia when all the time she and Daniel- She dimpled at her own thoughts and Ellie, who had been watching sharply the effect of her mother's words, sank back with a small puzzled frown._

"_I don't care what you say, Mr. Rotchford," Mrs. Babcock was saying emphatically. "It's all wrong, this marrying of cousins. It's bad enough for Daniel to be marrying the Tippett child, but for Ann to be marrying that pale-looking Adam Tippett-"_

"_Ann'll never catch anybody else if she doesn't marry Adam," said Rhoda, cruel and secure in her own popularity. "She's never had another beau except him. And he's never acted very sweet on her, for all that they're engaged. Scarlett, you remember how he ran after you last Christmas-"_

"_Don't be a cat, Miss," said her mother. "Cousins shouldn't marry, even second cousins. It weakens the strain. It isn't like horses. You can breed a mare to a brother or a sire to a daughter and get good results if you know your blood strains, but in people it just doesn't work. You get good lines, perhaps, but no stamina. You-"_

"_Now, Ma'm, I'm taking issue with you on that! Can you name me better people than the Montgomery's? And they've been intermarrying since Brian Boru was a boy."_

"_And high time they stopped it, for it's beginning to show. Oh, not Daniel so much, for he's a good-looking devil, though even he- But look at those two washed-out-looking Montgomery girls, poor things! Nice girls, of course, but washed out. And look at little Miss Amelia. Thin as a rail and delicate enough for the wind to blow away and no spirit at all. Not a notion of her own. 'No, Ma'm!' 'Yes, Ma'm!' That's all she has to say. You see what I mean? That family needs new blood, fine vigorous blood like my red heads or your Eugenia. Now, don't misunderstand me. The Montgomery's are fine folks in their way, and you know I'm fond of them all, but be frank! They are overbred and inbred too, aren't they? They'll do fine on a dry track, a fast track, but mark my words, I don't believe the Montgomery's can run on a mud track. I believe the stamina has been bred out of them, and when the emergency arises I don't believe they can run against odds. Dry-weather stock. Give me a big horse who can run in any weather! And their intermarrying has made them different from other folks around here. Always fiddling with the piano or sticking their heads in a book. I do believe Ashley would rather read than hunt! Yes, I honestly believe that, Mr. Rotchford! And just look at the bones on them. Too slender. They need dams and sires with strength-"_

"_Ah-ah-hum," said Thomas, suddenly and guiltily aware that the conversation, a most interesting and entirely proper one to him, would seem quite otherwise to Alice. In fact, he knew she would never recover should she learn that her daughters had been exposed to so frank a conversation. But Mrs. Babcock was, as usual, deaf to all other ideas when pursuing her favorite topic, breeding, whether it be horses or humans._

"_I know what I'm talking about because I had some cousins who married each other and I give you my word their children all turned out as popeyed as bullfrogs, poor things. And when my family wanted me to marry a second cousin, I bucked like a colt. I said, 'No, Ma. Not for me. My children will all have spavins and heaves.' Well, Ma fainted when I said that about spavins, but I stood firm and Grandma backed me up. She knew a lot about horse breeding too, you see, and said I was right. And she helped me run away with Mr. Babcock. And look at my children! Big and healthy and not a sickly one or a runt among them, though Boyd is only five feet ten. Now, the Montgomery's-"_

"_Not meaning to change the subject, Ma'm," broke in Thomas hurriedly, for he had noticed Mary Cate's bewildered look and the avid curiosity on Emmabeth's face and feared lest they might ask Alice embarrassing questions which would reveal how inadequate a chaperon he was. Puss, he was glad to notice, appeared to be thinking of other matters as a lady should. Ellie Tarleton rescued him from his predicament."_

"_Good Heavens, Ma, do let's get on!" she cried impatiently. "This sun is broiling me and I can just hear freckles popping out on my neck."_

"_Just a minute, Ma'm, before you go," said Thomas. "But what have you decided to do about selling us the horses for the Troop? War may break any day now and the boys want thematter settled. It's a Clayton County troop and it's Clayton County horses we want for them. But you, obstinate creature that you are, are still refusing to sell us your fine beasts."_

"_Maybe there won't be any war," Mrs. Babcock temporized, her mind diverted completely from the Montgomery's odd marriage habits._

"_Why, Ma'm, you can't-"_

"_Ma," Ellie interrupted again, "can't you and Mr. Rotchford talk about the horses at Oakfield as well as here?"_

"_That's just it, Miss Ellie," said Thomas. "And I won't be keeping you but one minute by the clock. We'll be getting to Oakfield in a little bit, and every man there, old and young, wanting to know about the horses. Ah, but it's breaking me heart to see such a fine pretty lady as your mother so stingy with her beasts! Now, where's your patriotism, Mrs. Babcock? Does the Confederacy mean nothing to you at all?"_

"_Ma," cried small Tilly, "Rhoda's sitting on my dress and I'm getting all wrinkled."_

"_Well, push Randa off you, Tilly, and hush. Now, listen to me, Mr. Rotchford," she retorted, her eyes beginning to snap. "Don't you go throwing the Confederacy in my face! I reckon the Confederacy means as much to me as it does to you, me with four boys in the Troop and you with none. But my boys can take care of themselves and my horses can't. I'd gladly give the horses free of charge if I knew they were going to be ridden by boys I know, gentlemen used to thoroughbreds. No, I wouldn't hesitate a minute. But let my beauties be at the mercy of back-woodsmen and Crackers who are used to riding mules! No, sir! I'd have nightmares thinking they were being ridden with saddle galls and not groomed properly. Do you think I'd let ignorant fools ride my tender-mouthed darlings and saw their mouths to pieces and beat them till their spirits were broken? Why, I've got goose flesh this minute, just thinking about it! No, Mr. Rotchford, you're mighty nice to want my horses, but you'd better go to Atlanta and buy some old plugs for your clodhoppers. They'll never know the difference."_

"_Ma, can't we please go on?" asked Mittie, joining the impatient chorus. "You know mighty well you're going to end up giving them your darlings anyhow. When Pa and the boys get through talking about the Confederacy needing them and so on, you'll cry and let them go."_

_Mrs. Babcock grinned and shook the lines._

"_I'll do no such thing," she said, touching the horses lightly with the whip. The carriage went off swiftly._

"_That's a fine woman," said Thomas, putting on his hat and taking his place beside his own carriage. "Drive on, Tobias. We'll wear her down and get the horses yet. Of course, she's right. She's right. If a man's not a gentleman, he's no business on a horse. The infantry is theplace for him. But more's the pity, there's not enough planters' sons in this County to make up a full troop. What did you say, Puss?"_

"_Daddy, please ride behind us or in front of us. You kick up such a heap of dust that we're choking," said Eugenia, who felt that she could endure conversation no longer. It distracted her from her thoughts and she was very anxious to arrange both her thoughts and her face in attractive lines before reaching Oakfield. Thomas obediently put spurs to his horse and was off in a red cloud after the Babcock carriage where he could continue his horsy conversation._

_..._

_They crossed the river and the carriage mounted the hill. Even before Oakfield came into view Eugenia saw a haze of smoke hanging lazily in the tops of the tall trees and smelled the mingled savory odors of burning hickory logs and roasting pork and mutton. The barbecue pits, which had been slowly burning since last night, would now be long troughs of rose-red embers, with the meats turning on spits above them and the juices trickling down and hissing into the coals. Eugenia knew that the fragrance carried on the faint breeze came from the grove of great oaks in the rear of the big house. Clarence Montgomery always held his barbecues there, on the gentle slope leading down to the rose garden, a pleasant shady place and a far pleasanter place, for instance, than that used by the Throckermort's. Mrs. Throckermort did not like barbecue food and declared that the smells remained in the house for days, so her guests always sweltered on a flat unshaded spot a quarter of a mile from the house. But Clarence Montgomery, famed throughout the state for his hospitality, really knew how to give a barbecue._

_The long trestled picnic tables, covered with the finest of the Montgomery's linen, always stood under the thickest shade, with backless benches on either side; and chairs, hassocks and cushions from the house were scattered about the glade for those who did not fancy the benches. At a distance great enough to keep the smoke away from the guests were the long pits where the meats cooked and the huge iron wash-pots from which the succulent odors of barbecue sauce and Brunswick stew floated. Mr. Montgomery's always had at least a dozen slaves busy running back and forth with trays to serve the guests. Over behind the barns there was always another barbecue pit, where the house servants and the coachmen and maids of the guests had their own feast of hoecakes and yams and chitterlings, that dish of hog entrails so dear to the slave's hearts, and, in season, watermelons enough to satiate._

_As the smell of crisp fresh pork came to her, Eugenia wrinkled her nose appreciatively, hoping that by the time it was cooked she would feel some appetite. As it was she was so full of food and so tightly laced that she feared every moment she was going to belch. That would be fatal, as only old men and very old ladies could belch without fear of social disapproval. They topped the rise and the white house reared its perfect symmetry before her, tall of columns, wide of verandas, flat of roof, beautiful as a woman is beautiful who is so sure of her charm that she can be generous and gracious to all. Scarlett loved Oakfield even more than Tessa, for it had a stately beauty, a mellowed dignity that Gerald's house did not possess._

_The wide curving driveway was full of saddle horses and carriages and guests alighting and calling greetings to friends. Grinning slave, excited as always at a party, were leading theanimals to the barnyard to be unharnessed and unsaddled for the day. Swarms of children, black and white, ran yelling about the newly green lawn, playing hopscotch and tag and boasting how much they were going to eat. The wide hall which ran from front to back of the house was swarming with people, and as the Rotchford carriage drew up at the front steps, Eugenia saw girls in crinolines, bright as butterflies, going up and coming down the stairs from the second floor, arms about each other's waists, stopping to lean over the delicate handrail of the banisters, laughing and calling to young men in the hall below them._

_Through the open French windows, she caught glimpses of the older women seated in the drawing room, sedate in dark silks as they sat fanning themselves and talking of babies and sicknesses and who had married whom and why. The Montgomery's butler, Billy, was hurrying through the halls, a silver tray in his hands, bowing and grinning, as he offered tall glasses to young men in fawn and gray trousers and fine ruffled linen shirts._

_The sunny front veranda was thronged with guests. Yes, the whole County was here, thought Eugenia. The four Babcock boys and their father leaned against the tall columns, the twins, Walter and Edward, side by side inseparable as usual, Jack and Lee with their father, Marty Tarleton. Mr. Throckermort was standing close by the side of his Yankee wife, who even after fifteen years in Georgia never seemed to quite belong anywhere. Everyone was very polite and kind to her because he felt sorry for her, but no one could forget that she had compounded her initial error of birth by being the governess of Mr. Throckermort's children. The two Throckermort boys, Braford and Sid, were there with their dashing blonde sister, Samantha, teasing the dark-faced Marcus Banks and Joy Hathaway, his pretty bride-to-be. Mickey and Toby Banks were whispering in the ears of Artie Hathaway and sending her into gales of giggles. There were families from as far as Lovejoy, ten miles away, and from Fayetteville and Jonesboro, a few even from Atlanta and Macon. The house seemed bursting with the crowd, and a ceaseless babble of talking and laughter and giggles and shrill feminine squeaks and screams rose and fell._

_On the porch steps stood Clarence Montgomery, silver-haired, erect, radiating the quiet charm and hospitality that was as warm and never failing as the sun of Georgia summer. Beside him Ann Montgomery fidgeted and giggled as she called greetings to the arriving guests._

_Ann's nervously obvious desire to be attractive to every man in sight contrasted sharply with her father's poise, and Eugenia had the thought that perhaps there was something in what Mrs. Babcock said, after all. Certainly the Montgomery men got the family looks. The thick deep-gold lashes that set off the gray eyes of Clarence and Daniel were sparse and colorless in the faces of Ann and her sister Lucy. Ann had the odd lashless look of a rabbit, and Lucy could be described by no other word than plain._

_Lucy was nowhere to be seen, but Eugenia knew she probably was in the kitchen giving final instructions to the servants. _

_Poor Lucy, thought Eugenia, she's had so much trouble keeping house since her mother died that she's never had the chance to catch any beau except Walter Babcock, and it certainly wasn't my fault if he thought I was prettier than she._

_Clarence Montgomery came down the steps to offer his arm to Eugenia. As she descended from the carriage, she saw Emmabeth smirk and knew that she must have picked out Henry Grigsby in the crowd._

_If I couldn't catch a better beau than that old maid in britches! She thought contemptuously, as she stepped to the ground and smiled her thanks to Clarence Montgomery._

_Henry Grigsby was hurrying to the carriage to assist Emmabeth, and Emmabeth was bridling in a way that made Eugenia want to slap her. Henry Grigsby might own more land than anyone in the County and he might have a very kind heart, but these things counted for nothing against the fact that he was forty, slight and nervous and had a thin ginger-colored beard and an old-maidish, fussy way about him. However, remembering her plan, Eugenia smothered her contempt and cast such a flashing smile of greeting at him that he stopped short, his arm outheld to Emmabeth and goggled at Eugenia in pleased bewilderment._

_Eugenia's eyes searched the crowd for Daniel, even while she made pleasant small talk with Clarence Montgomery, but he was not on the porch. There were cries of greeting from a dozen voices and Walter and Edward Babcock moved toward her. The Hathaway girls rushed up to exclaim over her dress, and she was speedily the center of a circle of voices that rose higher and higher in efforts to be heard above the din. But where was Daniel? And Amelia and Adam? She tried not to be obvious as she looked about and peered down the hall into the laughing group inside._

_As she chattered and laughed and cast quick glances into the house and the yard, her eyes fell on a man she recognized as Loki standing alone in the hall, staring at her in a cool impertinent way that brought her up sharply with a mingled feeling of feminine pleasure that she had attracted a man and an embarrassed sensation that her dress was too low in the bosom. When her eye caught his, he smiled. There was a cynical humor in his mouth as he smiled at her, and Eugenia caught her breath. She felt that she should be insulted by such a look and was annoyed with herself because she did not feel insulted._

_She dragged her eyes away from his without smiling back, and he turned as someone called:_

"_Lucas! Lucas Porter! Come here! I want you to meet the most hardhearted girl in Georgia."_

_Lucas Porter? The name had a familiar sound, somehow connected with something pleasantly scandalous, but her mind was on Daniel and she dismissed the thought."I must run upstairs and smooth my hair," she told Walter and Edward, who were trying to get her cornered from the crowd. "You boys wait for me and don't run off with any other girl or I'll be furious."_

_She could see that Walter was going to be difficult to handle today if she flirted with anyone else. He had been drinking and wore the arrogant looking-for-a-fight expression that she knew from experience meant trouble. She paused in the hall to speak to friends and to greet India who was emerging from the back of the house, her hair untidy and tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. Poor Lucy! It would be bad enough to have pale hair and eyelashes and a jutting chin that meant a stubborn disposition, without being twenty years old and an old maid in the bargain. She wondered if India resented very much her taking Walter away from her. Lots of people said she was still in love with him, but then you could never tell what a Montgomery was thinking about. If she did resent it, she never gave any sign of it, treating Eugenia with the same slightly aloof, kindly courtesy she had always shown her. Eugenia spoke pleasantly to her and started up the wide stairs. As she did, a shy voice behind her called her name and, turning, she saw Adam Tippett. He was a nice-looking boy with a riot of soft brown curls on his white forehead and eyes as deep brown, as clean and as gentle as a collie dog's. He was well turned out in mustard-colored trousers and black coat and his pleated shirt was topped by the widest and most fashionable of black cravats. A faint blush was creeping over his face as she turned for he was timid with girls. Like most shy men he greatly admired airy, vivacious, always-at-ease girls like Eugenia. She had never given him more than perfunctory courtesy before, and so the beaming smile of pleasure with which she greeted him and the two hands outstretched to his almost took his breath away._

"_Why Adam Tippett, you handsome old thing, you! I'll bet you came all the way down here from Atlanta just to break my poor heart!"_

_Ada, almost stuttered with excitement, holding her warm little hands in his and looking into the dancing purple eyes. This was the way girls talked to other boys but never to him. He never knew why but girls always treated him like a younger brother and were very kind, but never bothered to tease him. He had always wanted girls to flirt and frolic with him as they did with boys much less handsome and less endowed with this world's goods than he. But on the few occasions when this had happened he could never think of anything to say and he suffered agonies of embarrassment at his dumbness. Then he lay awake at night thinking of all the charming gallantries he might have employed; but he rarely got a second chance, for the girls left him alone after a trial or two._

_Even with Ann, with whom he had an unspoken understanding of marriage when he came into his property next fall, he was diffident and silent. At times, he had an ungallant feeling that Ann's coquetries and proprietary airs were no credit to him, for she was so boy-crazy he imagined she would use them on any man who gave her the opportunity. Adam was not excited over the prospect of marrying her, for she stirred in him none of the emotions of wild romance that his beloved books had assured him were proper for a lover. He had always yearned to be loved by some beautiful, dashing creature full of fire and mischief. And here was Eugenia Rotchford teasing him about breaking her heart!_

_He tried to think of something to say and couldn't, and silently he blessed her because she kept up a steady chatter which relieved him of any necessity for conversation. It was too good to be true._

"_Now, you wait right here till I come back, for I want to eat barbecue with you. And don't you go off philandering with those other girls, because I'm mighty jealous," came the incredible words from red lips with a dimple on each side; and briskly black lashes swept demurely over purple eyes._

_"I won't," he finally managed to breathe, never dreaming that she was thinking he looked like a calf waiting for the butcher._

_Tapping him lightly on the arm with her folded fan, she turned to start up the stairs and her eyes again fell on the man called Lucas Porter who stood alone a few feet away from Adam. Evidently he had overheard the whole conversation, for he grinned up at her as maliciously as a tomcat, and again his eyes went over her, in a gaze totally devoid of the deference she was accustomed to._

"_God's nightgown!" said Eugenia to herself in indignation, using Thomas' favorite oath. "He looks as if-as if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy," and, tossing her head, she went up the steps._

_In the bedroom where the wraps were laid, she found Samantha Throckermort preening before the mirror and biting her lips to make them look redder. There were fresh roses in her sash that matched her cheeks, and her cornflower-blue eyes were dancing with excitement._

"_Samantha," said Scarlett, trying to pull the corsage of her dress higher, "who is that nasty_

_man downstairs named Porter?"_

"_My dear, don't you know?" whispered Samantha excitedly, a weather eye on the next room where Lori and the Montgomery girls' nan were gossiping. "I can't imagine how Mr. Montgomery must feel having him here, but he was visiting Mr. Grigsby in Jonesboro-something about buying cotton-and, of course, Mr. Grigsby had to bring him along with him. He couldn't just go off and leave him."_

"_What is the matter with him?"_

"_My dear, he isn't received!"_

"_Not really!"_

"_No."_

_Eugenia digested this in silence, for she had never before been under the same roof with anyone who was not received. It was very exciting._

"_What did he do?"_

"_Oh, Eugenia, He spends a lot of his time up North all because his folks in London won't even speak to him. He's Mrs. Lily Woodbridges nephew. He spent some time with some relatives in Charleston. He was expelled from West Point, he's so fast. And then there's that business about that girl he wouldn't marry."_

"_Do tell me!"_

"_Darling, don't you know anything? Danielle told me all about it last summer and her mama would die if she thought Danielle even knew about it. Well, this Mr. Porter took a Charleston girl out buggy riding. I never did know who she was, but I've got my suspicions. She couldn't have been very nice or she wouldn't have gone out with him in the late afternoon without a chaperon. And, my dear, they stayed out nearly all night and walked home finally, saying the horse had run away and smashed the buggy and they had gotten lost in the woods. And guess what-"_

"_I can't guess. Tell me," said Eugenia enthusiastically, hoping for the worst._

"_He refused to marry her the next day!"_

"_Oh," said Eugenia, her hopes dashed._

"_He said he hadn't-er-done anything to her and he didn't see why he should marry her. And, of course, her brother called him out, and Mr. Porter said he'd rather be shot than marry a stupid fool. And so they fought a duel and Mr. Porter shot the girl's brother and he died, and Mr. Butler had to leave Charleston and now nobody receives him," finished Samantha triumphantly, and just in time, for Lori came back into the room to oversee the toilet of her charge._

"_Did she have a baby?" whispered Eugenia in Samantha's ear._

_Samantha shook her head violently. "But she was ruined just the same," she hissed back. I wish I had gotten Daniel to compromise me, thought Eugenia suddenly. He'd be too much of a gentleman not to marry me. _

_..._

_Eugenia sat on a high rosewood ottoman, under the shade of a huge oak in the rear of the house, her flounces and ruffles billowing about her and two inches of green morocco slippers-all that a lady could show and still remain a lady-peeping from beneath them. She had scarcely touched plate in her hands and seven cavaliers about her. The barbecue had reached its peak and the warm air was full of laughter and talk, the click of silver on porcelain and the rich heavy smells of roasting meats and redolent gravies. Occasionally when the slight breeze veered, puffs of smoke from the long barbecue pits floated over the crowd and were greeted with squeals of mock dismay from the ladies and violent flappings of palmetto fans._

_Most of the young ladies were seated with partners on the long benches that faced the tables, but Eugenia, realizing that a girl has only two sides and only one man can sit on each of these sides, had elected to sit apart so she could gather about her as many men as possible._

_Under the arbor sat the married women, their dark dresses decorous notes in the surrounding color and gaiety. Matrons, regardless of their ages, always grouped together apart from the bright-eyed girls, beaux and laughter, for there were no married belles in the South. From Grandma Banks, who was belching frankly with the privilege of her age, to seventeen-year-old Nanette Hathaway, struggling against the nausea of a first pregnancy, they had their heads together in the endless genealogical and obstetrical discussions that made such gatherings very pleasant and instructive affairs._

_Casting contemptuous glances at them, Eugenia thought that they looked like a clump of fat crows. Married women never had any fun. It did not occur to her that if she married Daniel she would automatically be relegated to arbors and front parlors with staid matrons in dull silks, as staid and dull as they and not a part of the fun and frolicking. Like most girls, her imagination carried her just as far as the altar and no further. Besides, she was too unhappy now to pursue an abstraction._

_She dropped her eyes to her plate and nibbled daintily on a beaten biscuit with an elegance and an utter lack of appetite that would have won Nan's approval. For all that she had a superfluity of beaux, she had never been more miserable in her life. In some way that she could not understand, her plans of last night had failed utterly so far as Daniel was concerned. She had attracted other beaux by the dozens, but not Daniel, and all the fears of yesterday afternoon were sweeping back upon her, making her heart beat fast and then slow, and color flame and whiten in her cheeks._

_Daniel had made no attempt to join the circle about her, in fact she had not had a word alone with him since arriving, or even spoken to him since their first greeting. He had come forward to welcome her when she came into the back garden, but Amelia had been on his arm then, Amelia who hardly came up to his shoulder._

_She was a tiny, frailly built girl, who gave the appearance of a child masquerading in her mother's enormous hoop skirts-an illusion that was heightened by the shy, almost frightened look in her too large brown eyes. She had a cloud of curly dark hair which was so sternly repressed beneath its net that no vagrant tendrils escaped, and this dark mass, with its long widow's peak, accentuated the heart shape of her face. Too wide across the cheek bones, too pointed at the chin, it was a sweet, timid face but a plain face, and she had no feminine tricks of allure to make observers forget its plainness. She looked-and was-as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent as spring water. But for all her plainness of feature and smallness of stature, there was a sedate dignity about her movements that was oddly touching and far older than her seventeen years._

_Her gray organdie dress, with its cherry-colored satin sash, disguised with its billows and ruffles how childishly undeveloped her body was, and the yellow hat with long cherry streamers made her creamy skin glow. Her heavy earbobs with their long gold fringe hung down from loops of tidily netted hair, swinging close to her brown eyes, eyes that had the still gleam of a forest pool in winter when brown leaves shine up through quiet water. She had smiled with timid liking when she greeted Eugenia and told her how pretty her green dress was, and Scarlett had been hard put to be even civil in reply, so violently did she want to speak alone with Daniel. Since then, Daniel had sat on a stool at Amelia's feet, apart from the other guests, and talked quietly with her, smiling the slow drowsy smile that Eugenia loved. What made matters worse was that under his smile a little sparkle had come into Amelia's eyes, so that even Eugenia had to admit that she looked almost pretty. As Amelia looked at Daniel, her plain face lit up as with an inner fire, for if ever a loving heart showed itself upon a face, it was showing now on Amelia Tippett's._

_Eugenia tried to keep her eyes from these two but could not, and after each glance she redoubled her gaiety with her cavaliers, laughing, saying daring things, teasing, tossing her head at their compliments until her earrings danced. She said "fiddle-dee-dee" many times, declared that the truth wasn't in any of them, and vowed that she'd never believe anything any man told her. But Daniel did not seem to notice her at all. He only looked up at Amelia and talked on, and Amelia looked down at him with an expression that radiated the fact that she belonged to him._

_So, Eugenia was miserable._

_To the outward eye, never had a girl less cause to be miserable. She was undoubtedly the belle of the barbecue, the center of attention. The furore she was causing among the men coupled with the heart burnings of the other girls, would have pleased her enormously at any other time._

_Adam Tippett, emboldened by her notice, was firmly planted on her right, refusing to be dislodged by the combined efforts of the Tippett twins. He held her fan in one hand and his untouched plate of barbecue in the other and stubbornly refused to meet the eyes of Ann, who seemed on the verge of an outburst of tears. Sid lounged gracefully on her left, plucking at her skirt to attract her attention and staring up with smoldering eyes at Walter. Already the air was electric between him and the twins and rude words had passed. Henry Grigsby fussed about like a hen with one chick, running back and forth from the shade of the oak to the tables to fetch dainties to tempt Eugenia, as if there were not a dozen servants there for that purpose. As a result, Emmabeth's sullen resentment had passed beyond the point of ladylike concealment and she glowered at Eugenia. Small Mary Cate could have cried because, for all Eugenia's encouraging words that morning, Edward had done no more than say "Hello, Sis" and jerk her hair ribbon before turning his full attention to Eugenia. Usually he was so kind and treated her with a careless deference that made her feel grown up, and Mary Cate secretly dreamed of the day when she would put her hair up and her skirts down and receive him as a real beau. And now it seemed that Eugenia had him. The Hathaway girls were concealing their chagrin at the defection of the swarthy Banks boys, but they were annoyed at the way Mickey and Artie stood about the circle, jockeying for a position near Eugenia should any of the others arise from their places._

_They telegraphed their disapproval of Eugenia's conduct to Ettie Babcock by delicately raised eyebrows. "Fast" was the only word for Eugenia. Simultaneously, the three young ladies raised lacy parasols, said they had had quite enough to eat, thank you, and, laying light fingers on the arms of the men nearest them, clamored sweetly to see the rose garden, the spring and the summerhouse. This strategic retreat in good order was not lost on a woman present or observed by a man._

_Scarlett giggled as she saw three men dragged out of the line of her charms to investigate landmarks familiar to the girls from childhood, and cut her eye sharply to see if Daniel had taken note. But he was playing with the ends of Amelia's sash and smiling up at her. Pain twisted Eugenia's heart. She felt that she could claw Amelia's ivory skin till the blood ran and take pleasure in doing it._

_As her eyes wandered from Amelia, she caught the gaze of Loki, who was not mixing with the crowd but standing apart talking to Clarence Montgomery. He had been watching her and when she looked at him he laughed outright. Eugenia had an uneasy feeling that this man who was not received was the only one present who knew what lay behind her wild gaiety and that it was affording him sardonic amusement. She could have clawed him with pleasure too._

"_If I can just live through this barbecue till this afternoon," she thought, "all the girls will go upstairs to take naps to be fresh for tonight and I'll stay downstairs and get to talk to Daniel. Surely he must have noticed how popular I am." She soothed her heart with another hope: "Of course, he has to be attentive to Amelia because, after all, she is his cousin and she isn't popular at all, and if he didn't look out for her she'd just be a wallflower."_

_She took new courage at this thought and redoubled her efforts in the direction of Adma, whose brown eyes glowed down eagerly at her. It was a wonderful day for Adam, a dream day, and he had fallen in love with Eugenia with no effort at all. Before this new emotion, Ann receded into a dim haze. Ann was a shrill- voiced sparrow and Eugenia a gleaming hummingbird. She teased him and favored him and asked him questions and answered themherself, so that he appeared very clever without having to say a word. The other boys were puzzled and annoyed by her obvious interest in him, for they knew Adam was too shy to hitch two consecutive words together, and politeness was being severely strained to conceal their growing rage. Everyone was smoldering, and it would have been a positive triumph for Eugenia, except for Daniel._

_When the last forkful of pork and chicken and mutton had been eaten, Eugenia hoped the time had come when India would rise and suggest that the ladies retire to the house. It was two o'clock and the sun was warm overhead, but India, wearied with the three- day preparations for the barbecue, was only too glad to remain sitting beneath the arbor, shouting remarks to a deaf old gentleman from Fayetteville._

_A lazy somnolence descended on the crowd. The slaves idled about, clearing the long tables on which the food had been laid. The laughter and talking became less animated and groups here and there fell silent. All were waiting for their hostess to signal the end of the morning's festivities. Palmetto fans were wagging more slowly, and several gentlemen were nodding from the heat and overloaded stomachs. The barbecue was over and all were content to take their ease while sun was at its height. In this interval between the morning party and the evening's ball, they seemed a placid, peaceful lot. Only the young men retained the restless energy which had filled the whole throng a short while before. Moving from group to group, drawling in their soft voices, they were as handsome as blooded stallions and as dangerous. The languor of midday had taken hold of the gathering, but underneath lurked tempers that could rise to killing heights in a second and flare out as quickly. Men and women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only a little tamed._

_Some time dragged by while the sun grew hotter, and Eugenia and others looked again toward Lucy. Conversation was dying out when, in the lull, everyone in the grove heard Thomas' voice raised in furious accents. Standing some little distance away from the barbecue tables, he was at the peak of an argument with Clarence Montgomery._

"_God's nightgown, man! Pray for a peaceable settlement with the Yankees after we've fired on the rascals at Fort Sumter? Peaceable? The South should show by arms that she cannot be insulted and that she is not leaving the Union by the Union's kindness but by her own strength!"_

"_Oh, my God!" thought Eugeniat. "He's done it! Now, we'll all sit here till midnight."_

_In an instant, the somnolence had fled from the lounging throng and something electric went snapping through the air. The men sprang from benches and chairs, arms in wide gestures, voices clashing for the right to be heard above other voices. There had been no talk of politics or impending war all during the morning, because of Mr. Montgomery's request that the ladies should not be bored. But now Thomas had bawled the words "Fort Sumter," and every man present forgot his host's admonition."Of course we'll fight-" "Yankee thieves-" "We could lick them in a month-" "Why, one Southerner can lick twenty Yankees-" "Teach them a lesson they won't soon forget-" "Peaceably? They won't let us go in peace-" "No, look how Mr. Lincoln insulted our Commissioners!" "Yes, kept them hanging around for weeks- swearing he'd have Sumter evacuated!" "They want war; we'll make them sick of war-" And above all the voices, Thomas' boomed. All Eugenia could hear was "States' rights, by God!" shouted over and over. Thomas was having an excellent time, but not his daughter._

_Secession, war-these words long since had become acutely boring to Eugenia from much repetition, but now she hated the sound of them, for they meant that the men would stand there for hours haranguing one another and she would have no chance to corner Daniel. Of course there would be no war and the men all knew it. They just loved to talk and hear themselves talk._

_Adam Tippett had not risen with the others and, finding himself comparatively alone with Eugenia, he leaned closer and, with the daring born of new love, whispered a confession._

"_Miss Rotchford-I-I had already decided that if we did fight, I'd go over to South Carolina and join a troop there. It's said that Mr. Barnaby Thomas is organizing a cavalry troop, and of course I would want to go with him. He's a splendid person and was my father's best friend."_

_Eugenia thought, "What am I supposed to do-give three cheers?" for Adam's expression showed that he was baring his heart's secrets to her. She could think of nothing to say and so merely looked at him, wondering why men were such fools as to think women interested in such matters. He took her expression to mean stunned approbation and went on rapidly, daringly-_

"_If I went-would-would you be sorry, Miss Rotchford?"_

"_I should cry into my pillow every night," said Eugenia, meaning to be flippant, but he took the statement at face value and went red with pleasure. Her hand was concealed in the folds of her dress and he cautiously wormed his hand to it and squeezed it, overwhelmed at his own boldness and at her acquiescence._

"_Would you pray for me?"_

"_What a fool!" thought Eugenia bitterly, casting a surreptitious glance about her in the hope of being rescued from the conversation._

"_Would you?"_

"_Oh-yes, indeed, Mr. Tippett. Three Rosaries a night, at least!"Charles gave a swift look about him, drew in his breath, stiffened the muscles of his stomach._

_They were practically alone and he might never get another such opportunity. And, even given another such Godsent occasion, his courage might fail him._

"_Miss Rotchford-I must tell you something. I-I love you!"_

"_Um?" said Eugenia absently, trying to peer through the crowd of arguing men to where Daniel still sat talking at Amelia's feet._

"_Yes!" whispered Adam, in a rapture that she had neither laughed, screamed nor fainted, as he had always imagined young girls did under such circumstances. "I love you! You are the most-the most-" and he found his tongue for the first time in his life. "The most beautiful girl I've ever known and the sweetest and the kindest, and you have the dearest ways and I love you with all my heart. I cannot hope that you could love anyone like me but, my dear Miss Rotchford, if you can give me any encouragement, I will do anything in the world to make you love me. I will-"_

_Adam stopped, for he couldn't think of anything difficult enough of accomplishment to really prove to Eugenia the depth of his feeling, so he said simply: "I want to marry you." Eugenia came back to earth with a jerk, at the sound of the word "marry." She had been thinking of marriage and of Daniel, and she looked at Adam with poorly concealed irritation. Why must this calf-like fool intrude his feelings on this particular day when she was so worried she was about to lose her mind? She looked into the pleading brown eyes and she saw none of the beauty of a shy boy's first love, of the adoration of an ideal come true or the wild happiness and tenderness that were sweeping through him like a flame. Eugenia was used to men asking her to marry them, men much more attractive than Adam Tippett, and men who had more finesse than to propose at a barbecue when she had more important matters on her mind. She only saw a boy of twenty, red as a beet and looking very silly. She wished that she could tell him how silly he looked. But automatically, the words Alice had taught her to say in such emergencies rose to her lips and casting down her eyes, from force of long habit, she murmured: "Mr. Tippett. I am not unaware of the honor you have bestowed on me in wanting me to become your wife, but this is all so sudden that I do not know what to say."_

_That was a neat way of smoothing a man's vanity and yet keeping him on the string, and Adam rose to it as though such bait were new and he the first to swallow it._

"_I would wait forever! I wouldn't want you unless you were quite sure. Please, Miss Rotchford, tell me that I may hope!"_

"_Um," said Eugenia, her sharp eyes noting that Daniel, who had not risen to take part in the war talk, was smiling up at Amelia. If this fool who was grappling for her hand would only keep quiet for a moment, perhaps she could hear what they were saying. She must hear what they said. What did Amelia say to him that brought that look of interest to his eyes? Adam's words blurred the voices she strained to hear._

"_Oh, hush!" she hissed at him, pinching his hand and not even looking at him._

_Startled, at first abashed, Adam blushed at the rebuff and then, seeing how her eyes were fastened on his sister, he smiled. Eugenia was afraid someone might hear his words. She was naturally embarrassed and shy, and in agony lest they be overheard. Adam felt a surge of masculinity such as he had never experienced, for this was the first time in his life that he had ever embarrassed any girl. The thrill was intoxicating. He arranged his face in what he fancied was an expression of careless unconcern and cautiously returned Eugenia's pinch to show that he was man of the world enough to understand and accept her reproof. She did not even feel his pinch, for she could hear clearly the sweet voice that was Amelia's chief charm: "I fear I cannot agree with you about Mr. Thackaray's works. He is a cynic. I fear he is not the gentleman Mr. Dickens is."_

_What a silly thing to say to a man, thought Eugenia, ready to giggle with relief. Why, she's no more than a bluestocking and everyone knows what men think of bluestockings. . . . The way to get a man interested and to hold his interest was to talk about him, and then gradually lead the conversation around to yourself- and keep it there. _

_Eugenia would have felt some cause for alarm if Amelia had been saying: "How wonderful you are!" or "How do you ever think of such things? My little ole brain would bust if I even tried to think about them!" But here she was, with a man at her feet, talking as seriously as if she were in church. The prospect looked brighter to Eugenia, so bright in fact that she turned beaming eyes on Adam and smiled from pure joy. Enraptured at this evidence of her affection, he grabbed up her fan and plied it so enthusiastically her hair began to blow about untidily._

"_Daniel, you have not favored us with your opinion," said Marty Babcock, turning from the group of shouting men, and with an apology Daniel excused himself and rose. There was no one there so handsome, thought Eugenia, as she marked how graceful was his negligent pose and how the sun gleamed on his gold hair and mustache. Even the older men stopped to listen to his words._

"_Why, gentlemen, if Georgia fights, I'll go with her. Why else would I have joined the Troop?" he said. His gray eyes opened wide and their drowsiness disappeared in an intensity that Eugenia had never seen before. "But, like Father, I hope the Yankees will let us go in peace and that there will be no fighting-" He held up his hand with a smile, as a babel of voices from the Hathaway and Babcock boys began. "Yes, yes, I know we've been insulted and lied to-but if we'd been in the Yankees' shoes and they were trying to leave the Union, how would we have acted? Pretty much the same. We wouldn't have liked it."_

"_There he goes again," thought Eugenia. "Always putting himself in the other fellow's shoes." To her, there was never but one fair side to an argument. Sometimes, there was no understanding Daniel."Let's don't be too hot headed and let's don't have any war. Most of the misery of the world has been caused by wars. And when the wars were over, no one ever knew what they were all about."_

_Eugenia sniffed. Lucky for Daniel that he had an unassailable reputation for courage, or else there'd be trouble. As she thought this, the clamor of dissenting voices rose up about Daniel, indignant, fiery._

_Under the arbor, the deaf old gentleman from Fayetteville punched Lucy._

"_What's it all about? What are they saying?"_

"_War!" shouted Lucy, cupping her hand to his ear. "They want to fight the Yankees!"_

"_War, is it?" he cried, fumbling about him for his cane and heaving himself out of his chair with more energy than he had shown in years. "I'll tell 'um about war. I've been there." It was not often that Mr. Mosgrove had the opportunity to talk about war, the way his women folks shushed him._

_He stumped rapidly to the group, waving his cane and shouting and, because he could not hear the voices about him, he soon had undisputed possession of the field._

"_You fire-eating young bucks, listen to me. You don't want to fight. I fought and I know. Went out in the Seminole War and was a big enough fool to go to the Mexican War, too. You all don't know what war is. You think it's riding a pretty horse and having the girls throw flowers at you and coming home a hero. Well, it ain't. No, sir! It's going hungry, and getting the measles and pneumonia from sleeping in the wet. And if it ain't measles and pneumonia, it's your bowels. Yes sir, what war does to a man's bowels-dysentery and things like that-"_

_The ladies were pink with blushes. Mr. Mosgrove was a reminder of a cruder era, like Grandma Banks and her embarrassingly loud belches, an era everyone would like to forget._

"_Run get your grandpa," hissed one of the old gentleman's daughters to a young girl standing near by. "I declare," she whispered to the fluttering matrons about her, "he get worse every day. Would you believe it, this very morning he said to Myrna-and she's only sixteen: 'Now, Missy . . .'" And the voice went off into a whisper as the granddaughter slipped out to try to induce Mr. Mosgrove to return to his seat in the shade._

_Of all the group that milled about under the trees, girls smiling excitedly, men talking impassionedly, there was only one who seemed calm. Eugenia's eyes turned to Loki, who leaned against a tree, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He stood alone, since Mr. Montgomery had left his side, and had uttered no word as the conversation grew hotter._

_His lips curled down and there was a glint of amused contempt in his green eyes-contempt, as if he listened to the braggings of children._

_A very disagreeable smile, Eugenia thought. _

_He listened quietly until Walter Babcock, his red hair tousled and his eyes gleaming, repeated: "Why, we could lick them in a month! Gentlemen always fight better than rabble. A month- why, one battle-"_

"_Gentlemen," said Loki, in a flat drawl, not moving from his position against the tree or taking his hands from his pockets, "may I say a word?"_

_There was contempt in his manner as in his eyes, contempt overlaid with an air of courtesy that somehow burlesqued their own manners. The group turned toward him and accorded him the politeness always due an outsider._

"_Has any one of you gentlemen ever thought that there's not a cannon factory south of the Mason-Dixon Line? Or how few iron foundries there are in the South? Or woolen mills or cotton factories or tanneries? Have you thought that we would not have a single warship and that the Yankee fleet could bottle up our harbors in a week, so that we could not sell our cotton abroad? But-of course-you gentlemen have thought of these things."_

"_Why, he means the boys are a passel of fools!" thought Eugenia indignantly, the hot blood coming to her cheeks._

_Evidently, she was not the only one to whom this idea occurred, for several of the boys were beginning to stick out their chins. Clarence Montgomery casually but swiftly came back to his place beside the speaker, as if to impress on all present that this man was his guest and that, moreover, there were ladies present._

"_The trouble with most of us Southerners," continued Loki, "is that we either don't travel enough or we don't profit enough by our travels. Now, of course, all you gentlemen are well traveled. But what have you seen? Europe and New York and Philadelphia and, of course, the ladies have been to Saratoga" (he bowed slightly to the group under the arbor). "You've seen the hotels and the museums and the balls and the gambling houses. And you've come home believing that there's no place like the South. As for me, I was London born, but I have spent the last few years in the North." His white teeth showed in a grin, as though he realized that everyone present knew just why he no longer lived in London, and cared not at all if they did know. _

_"My," Eugenia though. "How was he able to do this in one day?"_

"_I have seen many things that you all have not seen. The thousands of immigrants who'd be glad to fight for the Yankees for food and a few dollars, the factories, the foundries, the shipyards, the iron and coal mines-all the things you haven't got. Why, all you have is cotton and slaves and arrogance. They'd lick us in a month."_

_For a tense moment, there was silence. Loki removed a fine linen handkerchief from his coat pocket and idly flicked dust from his sleeve. Then an ominous murmuring arose in the crowd and from under the arbor came a humming as unmistakable as that of a hive of newly disturbed bees. Even while she felt the hot blood of wrath still in her cheeks, something in Eugenia's practical mind prompted the thought that what this man said was right, and it sounded like common sense. Why, she'd never even seen a factory, or known anyone who had seen a factory. But, even if it were true, he was no gentleman to make such a statement-and at a party, too, where everyone was having a good time._

_Walter Babcock, brows lowering, came forward with Brent close at his heels. Of course, the Babcock twins had nice manners and they wouldn't make a scene at a barbecue, even though tremendously provoked. Just the same, all the ladies felt pleasantly excited, for it was so seldom that they actually saw a scene or a quarrel. Usually they had to hear of it third-hand._

"_Sir," said Walter heavily, "what do you mean?"_

_Loki looked at him with polite but mocking eyes._

"_I mean," he answered, "The strongest battalion has a better chance of winning," and, turning to Clarence Montgomery, he said with courtesy that was unfeigned: "You promised to show me your library, sir. Would it be too great a favor to ask to see it now? I fear I must go back to Jonesboro early this afternoon where a bit of business calls me."_

_He swung about, facing the crowd, clicked his heels together and bowed like a dancing master, a bow that was graceful for so powerful a man, and as full of impertinence as a slap in the face. Then he walked across the lawn with Clarence Montgomery, his black head in the air, and the sound of his discomforting laughter floated back to the group about the tables._

_There was a startled silence and then the buzzing broke out again. Lucy rose tiredly from her seat beneath the arbor and went toward the angry Walter Babcock. Eugenia could not hear what she said, but the look in her eyes as she gazed up into his lowering face gave Eugenia something like a twinge of conscience. It was the same look of belonging that Amelia wore when she looked at Daniel, only Walter did not see it. _

_So India did love him. Eugenia thought for an instant that if she had not flirted so blatantly with Stuart at that political speaking a year ago, he might have married Lucy long ere this. But then the twinge passed with the comforting thought that it wasn't her fault if other girls couldn't keep their men. Finally Walter smiled down at India, an unwilling smile, and nodded his head. Probably Lucy had been pleading with him not to follow Loki and make trouble. A polite tumult broke out under the trees as the guests arose, shaking crumbs from laps. The married women called to nurses and small children and gathered their broods together to take their departure, and groups of girls started off, laughing and talking, toward the house to exchange gossip in the upstairs bedrooms and to take their naps._

_All the ladies except Mrs. Babcock moved out of the back yard, leaving the shade of oaks and arbor to the men. She was detained by Thomas, Mr. Throckermort and the others who wanted an answer from her about the horses for the Troop._

_Daniel strolled over to where Eugenia and Adam sat, a thoughtful and amused smile on hisface._

"_Arrogant devil, isn't he?" he observed, looking after Loki._

"_He looks like one of the Borgias."_

_Eugenia thought quickly but could remember no family in the County or Atlanta or Savannah by that name._

"_I don't know them. Is he kin to them? Who are they?"_

_An odd look came over Adam's face, incredulity and shame struggling with love. Love triumphed as he realized that it was enough for a girl to be sweet and gentle and beautiful, without having an education to hamper her charms, and he made swift answer: "The Borgias were Italians."_

"_Oh," said Eugenia, losing interest, "foreigners."_

_She turned her prettiest smile on Daniel, but for some reason he was not looking at her. He was looking at Eugenia, and there was understanding in his face and a little pity Eugenia stood on the landing and peered cautiously over the banisters into the hall below. It was empty. From the bedrooms on the floor above came an unending hum of low voices, rising and falling, punctuated with squeaks of laughter and, "Now, you didn't, really!" and "What did he say then?" On the beds and couches of the six great bedrooms, the girls were resting, their dresses off, their stays loosed, their hair flowing down their backs. Afternoon naps were a custom of the country and never were they so necessary as on the all-day parties, beginning early in the morning and culminating in a ball. For half an hour, the girls would chatter and laugh, and then servants would pull the shutters and in the warm half-gloom the talk would die to whispers and finally expire in silence broken only by soft regular breathing._

_Eugenia had made certain that Amelia was lying down on the bed with Ann and Ettie Babcock before she slipped into the hall and started down the stairs. From the window on the landing, she could see the group of men sitting under the arbor, drinking from tall glasses, and she knew they would remain there until late afternoon. Her eyes searched the group but Daniel was not among them. Then she listened and she heard his voice. As she had hoped, he was still in the front driveway bidding good-by to departing matrons and children._

_Her heart in her throat, she went swiftly down the stairs. What if she should meet Mr. Montgomery? What excuse could she give for prowling about the house when all the other girls were getting their beauty naps? Well, that had to be risked._

_As she reached the bottom step, she heard the servants moving about in the dining roomunder the butler's orders, lifting out the table and chairs in preparation for the dancing._

_Across the wide hall was the open door of the library and she sped into it noiselessly. She could wait there until Daniel finished his adieux and then call to him when he came into the house._

_The library was in semidarkness, for the blinds had been drawn against the sun. The dim room with towering walls completely filled with dark books depressed her. It was not the place which she would have chosen for a tryst such as she hoped this one would be. Large numbers of books always depressed her, as did people who liked to read large numbers of books. That is-all people except Daniel. The heavy furniture rose up at her in the half-light, high-backed chairs with deep seats and wide arms, made for the tall Wilkes men, squatty soft chairs of velvet with velvet hassocks before them for the girls. Far across the long room before the hearth, the seven-foot sofa, Daniel's favorite seat, reared its high back, like some huge sleeping animal._

_She closed the door except for a crack and tried to make her heart beat more slowly. She tried to remember just exactly what she had planned last night to say to Ashley, but she couldn't recall anything. Had she thought up something and forgotten it-or had she only planned that Daniel should say something to her? She couldn't remember, and a sudden cold fright fell upon her. If her heart would only stop pounding in her ears, perhaps she could think of what to say. But the quick thudding only increased as she heard him call a final farewell and walk into the front hall._

_All she could think of was that she loved him-everything about him, from the proud lift of his gold head to his slender dark boots, loved his laughter even when it mystified her, loved his bewildering silences. Oh, if only he would walk in on her now and take her in his arms, so she would be spared the need of saying anything. He must love her-"Perhaps if I prayed-" She squeezed her eyes tightly and began gabbling to herself "Hail Mary, full of grace-"_

"_Why, Eugenia!" said Daniel's voice, breaking in through the roaring in her ears and throwing her into utter confusion. He stood in the hall peering at her through the partly opened door, a quizzical smile on his face._

"_Who are you hiding from-Adam or the Babcocks?"_

_She gulped. So he had noticed how the men had swarmed about her! How unutterably dear he was standing there with his eyes twinkling, all unaware of her excitement. She could not speak, but she put out a hand and drew him into the room. He entered, puzzled but interested. There was a tenseness about her, a glow in her eyes that he had never seen before, and even in the dim light he could see the rosy flush on her cheeks. Automatically he closed the door behind him and took her hand._

"_What is it?" he said, almost in a whisper._

_At the touch of his hand, she began to tremble. It was going to happen now, just as she had dreamed it. A thousand incoherent thoughts shot through her mind, and she could not catch a single one to mold into a word. She could only shake and look up into his face. Why didn't he speak?_

"_What is it?" he repeated. "A secret to tell me?"_

_Suddenly she found her tongue and just as suddenly all the years of Alice's teachings fell away, and the forthright Irish blood of Thomas spoke from his daughter's lips._

"_Yes-a secret. I love you."_

_For an instance there was a silence so acute it seemed that neither of them even breathed. Then the trembling fell away from her, as happiness and pride surged through her. Why hadn't she done this before? How much simpler than all the ladylike maneuverings she had been taught. And then her eyes sought his._

_There was a look of consternation in them, of incredulity and something more-what was it? Yes, Thomas had looked that way the day his pet hunter had broken his leg and he had had to shoot him. Why did she have to think of that now? Such a silly thought. And why did Daniel look so oddly and say nothing? Then something like a well-trained mask came down over his face and he smiled gallantly._

"_Isn't it enough that you've collected every other man's heart here today?" he said, with the old, teasing, caressing note in his voice. "Do you want to make it unanimous? Well, you've always had my heart, you know. You cut your teeth on it."_

_Something was wrong-all wrong! This was not the way she had planned it. Through the mad tearing of ideas round and round in her brain, one was beginning to take form. Somehow-for some reason-Ashley was acting as if he thought she was just flirting with him. But he knew differently. She knew he did._

"_Daniel-Daniel-tell me-you must-oh, don't tease me now! Have I your heart? Oh, my dear, I lo-"_

_His hand went across her lips, swiftly. The mask was gone._

"_You must not say these things, Eugenia! You mustn't. You don't mean them. You'll hate yourself for saying them, and you'll hate me for hearing them!"_

_She jerked her head away. A hot swift current was running through her._

"_I couldn't ever hate you. I tell you I love you and I know you must care about me because-" She stopped. Never before had she seen so much misery in anyone's face. "Daniel, do you care-you do, don't you?"_

"_Yes," he said dully. "I care."_

_If he had said he loathed her, she could not have been more frightened. She plucked at his sleeve, speechless._

"_Eugenia," he said, "can't we go away and forget that we have ever said these things?"_

"_No," she whispered. "I can't. What do you mean? Don't you want to-to marry me?"_

_He replied, "I'm going to marry Amelia."_

_Somehow she found that she was sitting on the low velvet chair and Daniel, on the hassock at her feet, was holding both her hands in his, in a hard grip. He was saying things-things that made no sense. Her mind was quite blank, quite empty of all the thoughts that had surged through it only a moment before, and his words made no more impression than rain on glass. They fell on unhearing ears, words that were swift and tender and full of pity, like father speaking to a hurt child._

_The sound of Amelia's name caught in her consciousness and she looked into his crystal-gray eyes. She saw in them the old remoteness that had always baffled her-and a look of self-hatred._

"_Father is to announce the engagement tonight. We are to be married soon. I should have told you, but I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew-had known for years. I never dreamed that you- You've so many beaux. I thought Walter-"_

_Life and feeling and comprehension were beginning to flow back into her._

"_But you just said you cared for me."_

_His warm hands hurt hers._

"_My dear, must you make me say things that will hurt you?"_

_Her silence pressed him on._

"_How can I make you see these things, my dear. You who are so young and unthinking that you do not know what marriage means."_

"_I know I love you."_

"_Love isn't enough to make a successful marriage when two people are as different as we are. You would want all of a man, Eugenia, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did not have them, you would be miserable. And I couldn't give you all of me. I couldn't give all of me to anyone. And I would not want all of your mind and your soul. And you would be hurt, and then you would come to hate me-how bitterly! You would hate the books I read and the music I loved, because they took me away from you even for a moment._

_And I-perhaps I-"_

"_Do you love her?"_

"_She is like me, part of my blood, and we understand each other. Scarlett! Scarlett! Can't I make you see that a marriage can't go on in any sort of peace unless the two people are alike?"_

_Some one else had said that: "Like must marry like or there'll be no happiness." Who was it? It seemed a million years since she had heard that, but it still did not make sense._

"_But you said you cared."_

"_I shouldn't have said it."_

_Somewhere in her brain, a slow fire rose and rage began to blot out everything else._

"_Well, having been cad enough to say it-"_

_His face went white._

"_I was a cad to say it, as I'm going to marry Amelia. I did you a wrong and Amelia a greater one. I should not have said it, for I knew you wouldn't understand. How could I help caring for you- you who have all the passion for life that I have not? You who can love and hate with a violence impossible to me? Why you are as elemental as fire and wind and wild things and I-"_

_She thought of Amelia and saw suddenly her quiet brown eyes with their far-off look, her placid little hands in their black lace mitts, her gentle silences. And then her rage broke, the same rage that drove Thomas to murder and other Irish ancestors to misdeeds that cost them their necks. There was nothing in her now of the well-bred Robillards who could bear with white silence anything the world might cast._

"_Why don't you say it, you coward! You're afraid to marry me! You'd rather live with that stupid little fool who can't open her mouth except to say 'Yes' or 'No' and raise a passel of mealy- mouthed brats just like her! Why-"_

"_You must not say these things about Amelia!"_

"'_I mustn't' be damned to you! Who are you to tell me I mustn't? You coward, you cad, you-You made me believe you were going to marry me-"_

"_Be fair," his voice pleaded. "Did I ever-"_

_She did not want to be fair, although she knew what he said was true. He had never once crossed the borders of friendliness with her and, when she thought of this fresh anger rose, the anger of hurt pride and feminine vanity. She had run after him and he would have none of her. He preferred a whey-faced little fool like Alice to her. Oh, far better that she had followed Alice and Nan's precepts and never, never revealed that she even liked him- better anything than to be faced with this scorching shame!_

_She sprang to her feet, her hands clenched and he rose towering over her, his face full of the mute misery of one forced to face realities when realities are agonies._

"_I shall hate you till I die, you cad-you lowdown-lowdown-" What was the word she wanted? She could not think of any word bad enough._

"_Eugenia-please-"_

_He put out his hand toward her and, as he did, she slapped him across the face with all the strength she had. The noise cracked like a whip in the still room and suddenly her rage was gone, and there was desolation in her heart._

_The red mark of her hand showed plainly on his white tired face. He said nothing but lifted her limp hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he was gone before she could speak again, closing the door softly behind him._

_She sat down again very suddenly, the reaction from her rage making her knees feel weak. He was gone and the memory of his stricken face would haunt her till she died. She heard the soft muffled sound of his footsteps dying away down the long hall, and the complete enormity of her actions came over her. She had lost him forever. Now he would hate her and every time he looked at her he would remember how she threw herself at him when he had given her no encouragement at all._

"_I'm as bad as Ann Montgomery," she thought suddenly, and remembered how everyone, and she more than anyone else, had laughed contemptuously at Honey's forward conduct. She saw Ann's awkward wigglings and heard her silly titters as she hung onto boys' arms, and the thought stung her to new rage, rage at herself, at Ashley, at the world. Because she hated herself, she hated them all with the fury of the thwarted and humiliated love of sixteen. Only a little true tenderness had been mixed into her love. Mostly it had been compounded out of vanity and complacent confidence in her own charms. Now she had lost and, greater than her sense of loss, was the fear that she had made a public spectacle of herself. Had she been as obvious as Ann? Was everyone laughing at her? She began to shake at the thought._

_Her hand dropped to a little table beside her, fingering a tiny china rose-bowl on which two china cherubs smirked. The room was so still she almost screamed to break the silence. She must do something or go mad. She picked up the bowl and hurled it viciously across the room toward the fireplace. It barely cleared the tall back of the sofa and splintered with a little crash against the marble mantelpiece._

"_This," said a voice from the depths of the sofa, "is too much."_

_Nothing had ever startled or frightened her so much, and her mouth went too dry for her to utter a sound. She caught hold of the back of the chair, her knees going weak under her, as Loki rose from the sofa where he had been lying and made her a bow of exaggerated politeness._

"_It is bad enough to have an afternoon nap disturbed by such a passage as I've been forced to hear, but why should my life be endangered?"_

_He was real. He wasn't a ghost. But, saints preserve us, he had heard everything! She rallied her forces into a semblance of dignity._

"_Sir, you should have made known your presence."_

"_Indeed?" His white teeth gleamed and his bold dark eyes laughed at her. "But you were the intruder. I was forced to wait for Mr. Grigsby, and feeling that I was perhaps persona non grata in the back yard, I was thoughtful enough to remove my unwelcome presence here where I thought I would be undisturbed. But, alas!" he shrugged and laughed softly._

_Her temper was beginning to rise again at the thought that this rude and impertinent man had heard everything-heard things she now wished she had died before she ever uttered._

"_Eavesdroppers-" she began furiously._

"_Eavesdroppers often hear highly entertaining and instructive things," he grinned. "From a long experience in eavesdropping, I-"_

"_Sir," she said, "you are no gentleman!"_

"_An apt observation," he answered airily. "And, you, Miss, are no lady." He seemed to find her very amusing, for he laughed softly again. "No one can remain a lady after saying and doing what I have just overheard. However, ladies have seldom held any charms for me. I know what they are thinking, but they never have the courage or lack of breeding to say what they think. And that, in time, becomes a bore. But you, my dear Miss Rotchford, are a girl of rare spirit, very admirable spirit, and I take off my hat to you. I fail to understand what charms the elegant Mr. Montgomery can hold for a girl of your tempestuous nature. He should be grateful for a girl with your-how did he put it?-'passion for living,' but being a poor-spirited wretch-"_

"_You aren't fit to wipe his boots!" she shouted in rage."And you were going to hate him all your life!" He sank down on the sofa and she heard him laughing._

_If she could have killed him, she would have done it. Instead, she walked out of the room with such dignity as she could summon and banged the heavy door behind her. She went up the stairs so swiftly that when she reached the landing, she thought she was going to faint. She stopped, clutching the banisters, her heart hammering so hard from anger, insult and exertion that it seemed about to burst through her basque. She tried to draw deep breaths but Nan's lacings were too tight. If she should faint and they should find her here on the landing, what would they think? Oh, they'd think everything. Daniel and that vile Loki man and those nasty girls who were so jealous! For once in her life, she wished that she carried smelling salts, like the other girls, but she had never even owned a vinaigrette. She had always been so proud of never feeling giddy. She simply could not let herself faint now!_

_Gradually the sickening feeling began to depart. In a minute, she'd feel all right and then she'd slip quietly into the little dressing room adjoining Lucy's room, unloose her stays and creep in and lay herself on one of the beds beside the sleeping girls. She tried to quiet her heart and fix her face into more composed lines, for she knew she must look like a crazy woman. If any of the girls were awake, they'd know something was wrong. And no one must ever, ever know that anything had happened._

_Through the wide bay window on the lawn she could see the men still lounging in their chairs under the trees and in the shade of the arbor. How she envied them! How wonderful to be a man and never have to undergo miseries such as she had just passed through. As she stood watching them, hot eyed and dizzy, she heard the rapid pounding of a horse's hooves on the front drive, the scattering of gravel and the sound of an excited voice calling a question to one of the slaves. The gravel flew again and across her vision a man on horseback galloped over the green lawn toward the lazy group under the trees._

_Some late-come guest, but why did he ride his horse across the turf that was Lucy's pride? She could not recognize him, but as he flung himself from the saddle and clutched Clarece Montgomery's arm, she could see that there was excitement in every line of him. The crowd swarmed about him, tall glasses and palmetto fans abandoned on tables and on the ground. In spite of the distance, she could hear the hubbub of voices, questioning, calling, feel thefever- pitch tenseness of the men. Then above the confused sounds Stuart Tarleton's voice rose, in an exultant shout "Yee-aay-ee!" as if he were on the hunting field. And she heard for the first time, without knowing it, the Rebel yell._

_As she watched, the four Babcock's followed by the Banks boys broke from the group and began hurrying toward the stable, yelling as they ran, "Stewie! You, Stewie! Saddle thehorses!"_

"_Somebody's house must have caught fire," Eugenia thought. But fire or no fire, her job was to get herself back into the bedroom before she was discovered._

_Her heart was quieter now and she tiptoed up the steps into the silent hall. A heavy warm somnolence lay over the house, as if it slept at ease like the girls, until night when it would burst into its full beauty with music and candle flames. Carefully, she eased open the door of the dressing room and slipped in. Her hand was behind her, still holding the knob, when Ann Montgomery's voice, low pitched, almost in a whisper, came to her through the crack of the opposite door leading into the bedroom._

"_I think Eugenia acted as fast as a girl could act today."_

_Eugenia felt her heart begin its mad racing again and she clutched her hand against it unconsciously, as if she would squeeze it into submission. "Eavesdroppers often hear highly instructive things," jibed a memory. Should she slip out again? Or make herself known and embarrass Ann as she deserved? But the next voice made her pause. A team of mules could not have dragged her away when she heard Amelia's voice._

"_Oh, Ann, no! Don't be unkind. She's just high spirited and vivacious. I thought her most charming."_

"_Oh," thought Eugenia, clawing her nails into her basque. "To have that mealymouthed little mess take up for me!"_

_It was harder to bear than Ann's out-and-out cattiness. Eugenia had never trusted any woman and had never credited any woman except her mother with motives other than selfish ones. Amelia knew she had Daniel securely, so she could well afford to show such a Christian spirit. Eugenia felt it was just Amelia's way of parading her conquest and getting credit for being sweet at the same time. Eugenia had frequently used the same trick herself when discussing other girls with men, and it had never failed to convince foolish males of her sweetness and unselfishness._

"_Well, Miss," said Ann tartly, her voice rising, "you must be blind."_

"_Hush, Ann," hissed the voice of Joy Hathaway. "They'll hear you all over the house!"_

_Ann lowered her voice but went on._

"_Well, you saw how she was carrying on with every man she could get hold of-even Mr. Grigsby and he's her own sister's beau. I never saw the like! And she certainly was going after Adam." Ann giggled self-consciously. "And you know, Adad and I-"_

"_Are you really?" whispered voices excitedly._

"_Well, don't tell anybody, girls-not yet!"_

_There were more gigglings and the bed springs creaked as someone squeezed Ann. Amelia murmured something about how happy she was that Ann would be her sister._

"_Well, I won't be happy to have Eugenia for my sister, because she's a fast piece if ever I saw one," came the aggrieved voice of Ettie Tarleton. "But she's as good as engaged to Walter. Edward says she doesn't give a rap about him, but, of course, Edward's crazy about her, too."_

"_If you should ask me," said Ann with mysterious importance, "there's only one person she does give a rap about. And that's Daniel!"_

_As the whisperings merged together violently, questioning, interrupting, Eugenia felt herself go cold with fear and humiliation. Honey was a fool, a silly, a simpleton about men, but she had a feminine instinct about other women that Scarlett had underestimated. The mortification and hurt pride that she had suffered in the library with Daniel and with Loki were pin pricks to this. Men could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, even men like Loki, but with Ann Montgomery giving tongue like a hound in the field, the entire County would know about it before six o'clock. And Thomas had said only last night that he wouldn't be having the County laughing at his daughter. And how they would all laugh now! Clammy perspiration, starting under her armpits, began to creep down her ribs. Amelia's voice, measured and peaceful, a little reproving, rose above the others._

"_Ann, you know that isn't so. And it's so unkind."_

"_It is too, Mally, and if you weren't always so busy looking for the good in people that haven't got any good in them, you'd see it. And I'm glad it's so. It serves her right. All Eugenia Rotchford has ever done has been to stir up trouble and try to get other girls' beaux. You know mighty well she took Walter from Lucy and she didn't want him. And today she tried to take Mr. Grigsby and Daniel and Adam-"_

"_I must get home!" thought Eugenia. "I must get home!"_

_If she could only be transferred by magic to Tess and to safety. If she could only be with Alice, just to see her, to hold onto her skirt, to cry and pour out the whole story in her lap. If she had to listen to another word, she'd rush in and pull out Ann's straggly pale hair in big handfuls and spit on Amelia to show her just what she thought of her charity. But she'd already acted common enough today, enough like white trash-that was where all her trouble lay._

_She pressed her hands hard against her skirts, so they would not rustle and backed out as stealthily as an animal. Home, she thought, as she sped down the hall, past the closed doors and still rooms, I must go home._

_She was already on the front porch when a new thought brought her up sharply-she couldn't go home! She couldn't run away! She would have to see it through, bear all the malice of the girls and her own humiliation and heartbreak. To run away would only give them more ammunition._

_She pounded her clenched fist against the tall white pillar beside her, and she wished that she were Samson, so that she could pull down all of Oakfield and destroy every person in it. She'd make them sorry. She'd show them. She didn't quite see how she'd show them, but she'd do it all the same. She'd hurt them worse than they hurt her._

_For the moment, Daniel as Daniel was forgotten. He was not the tall drowsy boy she loved but part and parcel of the Montgomery's, Oakfield, the County-and she hated them all because they laughed. Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate._

"_I won't go home," she thought. "I'll stay here and I'll make them sorry. And I'll never tell Ma. No, I'll never tell anybody." She braced herself to go back into the house, to reclimb the stairs and go into another bedroom._

_As she turned, she saw Adam coming into the house from the other end of the long hall. When he saw her, he hurried toward her. His hair was tousled and his face near geranium with excitement._

"_Do you know what's happened?" he cried, even before he reached her. "Have you heard? Frederic Wilmont just rode over from Jonesboro with the news!"_

_He paused, breathless, as he came up to her. She said nothing and only stared at him._

"_Mr. Lincoln has called for men, soldiers-I mean volunteers- seventy-five thousand of them!"_

_Mr. Lincoln again! Didn't men ever think about anything that really mattered? Here was this fool expecting her to be excited about Mr. Lincoln's didoes when her heart was broken and her reputation as good as ruined._

_Adam stared at her. Her face was paper white and her narrow eyes blazing like amethyst's. He had never seen such fire in any girl's face, such a glow in anyone's eyes._

"_I'm so clumsy," he said. "I should have told you more gently. I forgot how delicate ladies are. I'm sorry I've upset you so. You don't feel faint, do you? Can I get you a glass of water?"_

"_No," she said, and managed a crooked smile."Shall we go sit on the bench?" he asked, taking her arm._

_She nodded and he carefully handed her down the front steps and led her across the grass to the iron bench beneath the largest oak in the front yard. How fragile and tender women are, he thought, the mere mention of war and harshness makes them faint. The idea made him feel very masculine and he was doubly gentle as he seated her. She looked so strangely, and there was a wild beauty about her white face that set his heart leaping. Could it be that she was distressed by the thought that he might go to the war? No, that was too conceited for belief. But why did she look at him so oddly? And why did her hands shake as they fingered her lace handkerchief. And her thick sooty lashes-they were fluttering just like the eyes of girls in romances he had read, fluttering with timidity and love._

_He cleared his throat three times to speak and failed each time. He dropped his eyes because her own purple ones met his so piercingly, almost as if she were not seeing him._

"_He has a lot of money," she was thinking swiftly, as a thought and a plan went through her brain. "And he hasn't any parents to bother me and he lives in Atlanta. And if I married him right away, it would show Daniel that I didn't care a rap-that I was only flirting with him. And it would just kill Ann. She'd never, never catch another beau and everybody'd laugh fit to die at her. And it would hurt Amelia, because she loves Adam so much. And it would hurt Wally and Edward-" She didn't quite know why she wanted to hurt them, except that they had catty sisters. "And they'd all be sorry when I came back here to visit in a fine carriage and with lots of pretty clothes and a house of my own. And they would never, never laugh at me."_

"_Of course, it will mean fighting," said Adam, after several more embarrassed attempts. "But don't you fret, Miss Eugenia, it'll be over in a month and we'll have them howling. Yes, sir! Howling! I wouldn't miss it for anything. I'm afraid there won't be much of a ball tonight, because the Troop is going to meet at Jonesboro. The Babcock boys have gone to spread the news. I know the ladies will be sorry."_

_She said, "Oh," for want of anything better, but it sufficed._

_Coolness was beginning to come back to her and her mind was collecting itself. A frost lay over all her emotions and she thought that she would never feel anything warmly again. Why not take this pretty, flushed boy? He was as good as anyone else and she didn't care. No, she could never care about anything again, not if she lived to be ninety._

"_I can't decide now whether to go with Mr. Amos Nethercott's South Carolina Legion or with the Atlanta Gate City Guard."_

_She said, "Oh," again and their eyes met and the fluttering lashes were his undoing._

"_Will you wait for me, Miss Eugenia? It-it would be Heaven just knowing that you were waiting for me until after we licked them!" He hung breathless on her words, watching theway her lips curled up at the corners, noting for the first time the shadows about these corners and thinking what it would mean to kiss them. Her hand, with palm clammy with perspiration, slid into his._

"_I wouldn't want to wait," she said and her eyes were veiled._

_He sat clutching her hand, his mouth wide open. Watching him from under her lashes, Eugenia thought detachedly that he looked like a gigged frog. He stuttered several times, closed his mouth and opened it again, and again became geranium colored._

"_Can you possibly love me?"_

_She said nothing but looked down into her lap, and Adam was thrown into new states of ecstasy and embarrassment. Perhaps a man should not ask a girl such a question. Perhaps it would be unmaidenly for her to answer it. Having never possessed the courage to get himself into such a situation before, Adam was at a loss as to how to act. He wanted to shout and to sing and to kiss her and to caper about the lawn and then run tell everyone, black and white, that she loved him. But he only squeezed her hand until he drove her rings into the flesh._

"_You will marry me soon, Miss Eugnenia?"_

"_Um," she said, fingering a fold of her dress._

"_Shall we make it a double wedding with Ame-"_

"_No," she said quickly, her eyes glinting up at him ominously. Adam knew again that he had made an error. Of course, a girl wanted her own wedding-not shared glory. How kind she was to overlook his blunderings. If it were only dark and he had the courage of shadows and could kiss her hand and say the things he longed to say._

"_When may I speak to your father?"_

"_The sooner the better," she said, hoping that perhaps he would release the crushing pressure_

_on her rings before she had to ask him to do it._

_He leaped up and for a moment she thought he was going to cut a caper, before dignity claimed him. He looked down at her radiantly, his whole clean simple heart in his eyes. She had never had anyone look at her thus before and would never have it from any other man, but in her queer detachment she only thought that he looked like a calf._

"_I'll go now and find your father," he said, smiling all over his face. "I can't wait. Will you excuse me-dear?" The endearment came hard but having said it once, he repeated it again with pleasure._

"_Yes," she said. "I'll wait here. It's so cool and nice here."_

_He went off across the lawn and disappeared around the house, and she was alone under the rustling oak. From the stables, men were streaming out on horseback, servants riding hard behind their masters. The Hathaway boys tore past waving their hats, and the Banks' and Throckermort's went down the road yelling. The four Babcocks charged across the lawn by her and Edward shouted: "Mother's going to give us the horses! Yee-aay-ee!" Turf flew and they were gone, leaving her alone again._

_The white house reared its tall columns before her, seeming to withdraw with dignified aloofness from her. It would never be her house now. Ashley would never carry her over the threshold as his bride. Oh, Ashley, Ashley! What have I done? Deep in her, under layers of hurt pride and cold practicality, something stirred hurtingly. An adult emotion was being_

_born, stronger than her vanity or her willful selfishness. She loved Ashley and she knew she_

_loved him and she had never cared so much as in that instant when she saw Charles_

_disappearing around the curved graveled walk._

...

Eugenia's face turned from a look of shock to a look of anger.

"Loki, if you have come for the girls, you are mistaken," Eugenia growled. "I will not let you take my children out of this house when you haven't seen them since 1962! You have never once come to visit-"

"I thought you killed yourself," said Loki. "That's what everyone thought."

"Not everyone thinks I killed myself," said Eugenia. "Some people think it was an accident, other's think I was murdered. And besides it's not like you cared."

"I went to that house the day you died," said Loki. "That woman-"

"What woman?" Eugenia asked.

"Your housekeeper," said Loki.

"Donna Conroy?" Eugenia pressed.

"I don't know her name!" Loki snapped. "Anyways, she told me-"

"She saw the light on in my room, tried knocking, I didn't respond, she tried to open the door, the door was locked, she called my doctor, they broke open the window, they saw my nude lifeless body on the bed," said Eugenia carelessly. "It's been fifty years. I've heard this story plenty of times. I don't need to hear it again."

There was a pause before Eugenia spoke up again.

"How did you find out I was alive?" Eugenia asked.

"I've known for years," said Loki. "I thought that servant was lying. I had always thought, but a part of me had always believe you'd killed yourself. I knew you'd come back here. So I checked a few times. There was nobody here."

"We moved back in 1995," said Eugenia. "We stayed with Sandra Coppedge. She died and we moved back. I love it here. It's my home. I'll always come back to it. Now, back to why you're here. I'm not letting you take my children. You haven't seen them in years."

"I need a place to stay," Loki said simply.

Eugenia's expression suddenly hardened.

"And what makes you think you're welcome here?" she asked coldly.

"You're my wife," said Loki as though it were obvious.

"In the loosest sense of the word," Eugenia spat. But she said a moment later, "Come in, I guess we could discuss it in here."

Loki smiled triumphently and followed Eugenia inside into the parlor

"Still keeping that hair, I see," Loki commented.

Eugenia reached up and felt her hair that was bob length. She knew it went out of style about eighty years ago but she still loved it. She rolled her eyes, choosing not to comment.

"Why do you need to stay here?" Eugenia asked irritably.

"Have you heard about the attack on New York?" Loki asked.

"You mean the one you told me about when you first met me?" Eugenia asked.

"Yes," said Loki. "It seems my actions have not changed and I am in need of a place to hide out."

Eugenia rolled her eyes.

"And after all you put me through, you expect me to let you stay here?" Eugenia asked.

"I am your husband," Loki said.

Eugenia slapped him.

"Get out of my house," Eugenia growled.

Loki didn't listen. He changed the subject.

"You have another child," Loki stated.

"Yes," said Eugenia, smiling in spite of herself. "Melanie Caroline. Her father, he divorced me."

"I thought you didn't want to shame your family," said Loki.

"I've shamed them enough," Eugenia said dryly. "What's a litle more."

...

_Within two weeks Eugenia had become a wife, and within two months more she was a widow. She was soon released from the bonds she had assumed with so much haste and so little thought, but she was never again to know the careless freedom of her unmarried days. Widowhood had crowded closely on the heels of marriage but, to her dismay, motherhood soon followed._

_In after years when she thought of those last days of April, 1861, Eugenia could never quite remember details. Time and events were telescoped, jumbled together like a nightmare that had no reality or reason. Till the day she died there would be blank spots in her memories of those days. Especially vague were her recollections of the time between her acceptance of Adam and her wedding. Two weeks! So short an engagement would have been impossible in times of peace. Then there would have been a decorous interval of a year or at least six months. But the South was aflame with war, events roared along as swiftly as if carried by a mighty wind and the slow tempo of the old days was gone. Alice had wrung her hands and counseled delay, in order that Eugenia might think the matter over at greater length. But to her pleadings, Eugenia turned a sullen face and a deaf ear. Marry she would! And quickly too. Within two weeks._

_Learning that Daniel's wedding had been moved up from the autumn to the first of May, so he could leave with the Troop as soon as it was called into service, Eugenia set the date of her wedding for the day before his. Alice protested but Adam pleaded with new-found eloquence, for he was impatient to be off to South Carolina to join Amos Nethercott's Legion, and Thomas sided with the two young people. He was excited by the war fever and pleased that Eugenia had made so good a match, and who was he to stand in the way of young love when there was a war? Alice, distracted, finally gave in as other mothers throughout the South were doing. Their leisured world had been turned topsy-turvy, and their pleadings, prayers and advice availed nothing against the powerful forces sweeping them along. The South was intoxicated with enthusiasm and excitement. Everyone knew that one battle would end the war and every young man hastened to enlist before the war should end- hastened to marry his sweetheart before he rushed off to Virginia to strike a blow at the Yankees. There were dozens of war weddings in the County and there was little time for the sorrow of parting, for everyone was too busy and excited for either solemn thoughts or tears. The ladies were making uniforms, knitting socks and rolling bandages, and the men were drilling and shooting. Train loads of troops passed through Jonesboro daily on their way north to Atlanta and Virginia. Some detachments were gaily uniformed in the scarlets and light blues and greens of select social-militia companies; some small groups were in homespun and coonskin caps; others, ununiformed, were in broadcloth and fine linen; all were half-drilled, half-armed, wild with excitement and shouting as though en route to apicnic. The sight of these men threw the County boys into a panic for fear the war would be over before they could reach Virginia, and preparations for the Troop's departure were speeded._

_In the midst of this turmoil, preparations went forward for Eugenia's wedding and, almost before she knew it, she was clad in Alice's wedding dress and veil, coming down the wide stairs of Tara on her father's arm, to face a house packed full with guests. Afterward she remembered, as from a dream, the hundreds of candles flaring on the walls, her mother's face, loving, a little bewildered, her lips moving in a silent prayer for her daughter's happiness, Thomas flushed with brandy and pride that his daughter was marrying both money, a fine name and an old one-and Danie, standing at the bottom of the steps with Amelia's arm through his._

_When she saw the look on his face, she thought: "This can't be real. It can't be. It's a nightmare. I'll wake up and find it's all been a nightmare. I mustn't think of it now, or I'll begin screaming in front of all these people. I can't think now. I'll think later, when I can stand it-when I can't see his eyes."_

_It was all very dreamlike, the passage through the aisle of smiling people, Adam's scarlet face and stammering voice and her own replies, so startlingly clear, so cold. And the congratulations afterward and the kissing and the toasts and the dancing-all, all like a dream. Even the feel of Daniel's kiss upon her cheek, even Amelia's soft whisper, "Now, we're really and truly sisters," were unreal. Even the excitement caused by the swooning spell that overtook Adam's plump emotional aunt, Miss Merripennie Tippett, had the quality of a nightmare._

_But when the dancing and toasting were finally ended and the dawn was coming, when all the Atlanta guests who could be crowded into Tessa and the overseer's house had gone to sleep on beds, sofas and pallets on the floor and all the neighbors had gone home to rest in preparation for the wedding at Oakfiel the next day, then the dreamlike trance shattered like crystal before reality. The reality was the blushing Adam, emerging from her dressing room in his nightshirt, avoiding the startled look she gave him over the high-pulled sheet._

_Of course, she knew that married people occupied the same bed but she had never given the matter a thought before. It seemed very natural in the case of her mother and father, but she had never applied it to herself. Now for the first time since the barbecue she realized just what she had brought on herself. The thought of this strange boy whom she hadn't really wanted to marry getting into bed with her, when her heart was breaking with an agony of regret at her hasty action and the anguish of losing Daniel forever, was too much to be borne. As he hesitatingly approached the bed she spoke in a hoarse whisper._

"_I'll scream out loud if you come near me. I will! I will-at the top of my voice! Get away from me! Don't you dare touch me!"_

_So Adam Tippett spent his wedding night in an armchair in the corner, not too unhappily, for he understood, or thought he understood, the modesty and delicacy of his bride. He was willing to wait until her fears subsided, only-only- He sighed as he twisted about seeking a comfortable position, for he was going away to the war so very soon._

_Nightmarish as her own wedding had been, Daniel's wedding was even worse. Eugenia stood in her apple-green "second-day" dress in the parlor of Oakfiels amid the blaze of hundreds of candles, jostled by the same throng as the night before, and saw the plain little face of Amelia Tippett glow into beauty as she became Amelia Montgomery. Now, Daniel was gone forever. Her Daniel. No, not her Daniel now. Had he ever been hers? It was all so mixed up in her mind and her mind was so tired, so bewildered. He had said he loved her, but what was it that had separated them? If she could only remember. She had stilled the County's gossiping tongue by marrying Adam, but what did that matter now? It had seemed so important once, but now it didn't seem important at all. All that mattered was Daniel. Now he was gone and she was married to a man she not only did not love but for whom she had an active contempt._

_Oh, how she regretted it all. She had often heard of people cutting off their noses to spite their faces but heretofore it had been only a figure of speech. Now she knew just what it meant._

_And mingled with her frenzied desire to be free of Adam and safely back at Tessa, an unmarried girl again, ran the knowledge that she had only herself to blame. Alice had tried to stop her and she would not listen._

_So she danced through the night of Daniel's wedding in a daze and said things mechanically and smiled and irrelevantly wondered at the stupidity of people who thought her a happy bride and could not see that her heart was broken. Well, thank God, they couldn't see!_

_That night after Nan had helped her undress and had departed and Daniel had emerged shyly from the dressing room, wondering if he was to spend a second night in the horsehair chair, she burst into tears. She cried until Daniel climbed into bed beside her and tried to comfort her, cried without words until no more tears would come and at last she lay sobbing quietly on his shoulder._

_If there had not been a war, there would have been a week of visiting about the County, with balls and barbecues in honor of the two newly married couples before they set off to Saratoga or White Sulphur for wedding trips. If there had not been a war, Eugenia would have had third-day and fourth-day and fifth-day dresses to wear to the Banks and Throckermort and Babcock parties in her honor. But there were no parties now and no wedding trips. A week after the wedding Adam left to join Colonel Adam Nethercott, and two weeks later Daniel and the Troop departed, leaving the whole County bereft. In those two weeks, Eugenia never saw Daniel alone, never had a private word with him. Not even at the terrible moment of parting, when he stopped by Tessa on his way to the train, did she have a private talk. Amelia, bonneted and shawled, sedate in newly acquired matronly dignity, hung on his arm and the entire personnel of Tara, black and white, turned out to see Danie; off to the war._

_Amelia said: "You must kiss Eugenia, Daniel. She's my sister now," and Daniel bent and touched her cheek with cold lips, his face drawn and taut. Eugenia could hardly take any joy from that kiss, so sullen was her heart at Mally's prompting it. Amelia smothered her with an embrace at parting._

"_You will come to Atlanta and visit me and Aunt Merripennie, won't you? Oh, darling, we want to have you so much! We want to know Adam's wife better."_

_Five weeks passed during which letters, shy, ecstatic, loving, came from Adam in South Carolina telling of his love, his plans for the future when the war was over, his desire to become a hero for her sake and his worship of his commander, Amos Nethercott. In the seventh week, there came a telegram from Colonel Nethercott himself, and then a letter, a kind, dignified letter of condolence. Adam was dead. The colonel would have wired earlier, but Adam, thinking his illness a trifling one, did not wish to have his family worried. The unfortunate boy had not only been cheated of the love he thought he had won but also of his high hopes of honor and glory on the field of battle. He had died ignominiously and swiftly of pneumonia, following measles, without ever having gotten any closer to the Yankees than the camp in South Carolina._

_In due time, Adam's son was born and, because it was fashionable to name boys after their fathers' fathers', he was called Thomas Edmond Tippett, who soon aquired the nickname "Tommy." Eugenia had wept with despair at the knowledge that she was pregnant and wished that she were dead. But she carried the child through its time with a minimum of discomfort, bore him with little distress and recovered so quickly that Nan told her privately it was downright common-ladies should suffer more. She felt little affection for the child, hide the fact though she might. She had not wanted him and she resented his coming and, now that he was here, it did not seem possible that he was hers, a part of her._

_Though she recovered physically from Tommy's birth in a disgracefully short time, mentally she was dazed and sick. Her spirits drooped, despite the efforts of the whole plantation to revive them. Alice went about with a puckered, worried forehead and Thomas swore more frequently than usual and brought her useless gifts from Jonesboro. Even old Dr. Banks admitted that he was puzzled, after his tonic of sulphur, molasses and herbs failed to perk her up. He told Alice privately that it was a broken heart that made Eugenia so irritable and listless by turns. But Eugenia, had she wished to speak, could have told them that it was a far different and more complex trouble. She did not tell them that it was utter boredom, bewilderment at actually being a mother and, most of all, the absence of Daniel that made her look so woebegone._

_Her boredom was acute and ever present. The County had been devoid of any entertainment or social life ever since the Troop had gone away to war. All of the interesting young men were gone- the four Babcock's, the two Throckermort's, the Banks', the Hathaway's and everyone from Jonesboro, Fayetteville and Lovejoy who was young and attractive. Only the older men, the cripples and the women were left, and they spent their time knitting and sewing, growing more cotton and corn, raising more hogs and sheep and cows for the army. There was never a sight of a real man except when the commissary troop under Emmabeth's middle-aged beau, Henry Grigsby, rode by every month to collect supplies. The men in the commissary were not very exciting, and the sight of Frank's timid courting annoyed her until she found it difficult to be polite to him. If he and Suellen would only get it over with!_

_Even if the commissary troop had been more interesting, it would not have helped her situation any. She was a widow and her heart was in the grave. At least, everyone thought it was in the grave and expected her to act accordingly. This irritated her for, try as she would, she could recall nothing about Adam except the dying-calf look on his face when she told him she would marry him. And even that picture was fading. But she was a widow and she had to watch her behavior. Not for her the pleasures of unmarried girls. She had to be grave and aloof. Alice had stressed this at great length after catching Henry's lieutenant swinging Eugnenia in the garden swing and making her squeal with laughter. Deeply distressed, Alice had told her how easily a widow might get herself talked about. The conduct of a widow must be twice as circumspect as that of a matron._

"_And God only knows," thought Eugenia, listening obediently to her mother's soft voice, "matrons never have any fun at all. So widows might as well be dead."_

_A widow had to wear hideous black dresses without even a touch of braid to enliven them, no flower or ribbon or lace or even jewelry, except onyx mourning brooches or necklaces made from the deceased's hair. And the black crepe veil on her bonnet had to reach to her knees, and only after three years of widowhood could it be shortened to shoulder length. Widows could never chatter vivaciously or laugh aloud. Even when they smiled, it must be a sad, tragic smile. And, most dreadful of all, they could in no way indicate an interest in the company of gentlemen. And should a gentleman be so ill bred as to indicate an interest in her, she must freeze him with a dignified but well-chosen reference to her dead husband. Oh, yes, thought Adam, drearily, some widows do remarry eventually, when they are old and stringy. Though Heaven knows how they manage it, with their neighbors watching. And then it's generally to some desperate old widower with a large plantation and a dozen children._

_Marriage was bad enough, but to be widowed-oh, then life was over forever! How stupid people were when they talked about what a comfort little Wade Hampton must be to her, now that Adam was gone. How stupid of them to say that now she had something to live for! Everyone talked about how sweet it was that she had this posthumous token of her love and she naturally did not disabuse their minds. But that thought was farthest from her mind. She had very little interest in Tommy and sometimes it was difficult to remember that he was actually hers._

_Every morning she woke up and for a drowsy moment she was Eugenia Rotchford again and the sun was bright in the magnolia outside her window and the mockers were singing and thesweet smell of frying bacon was stealing to her nostrils. She was carefree and young again. Then she heard the fretful hungry wail and always-always there was a startled moment when she thought: "Why, there's a baby in the house!" Then she remembered that it was her baby. It was all very bewildering._

_And Daniel! Oh, most of all Daniel! For the first time in her life, she hated Tessa, hated the long red road that led down the hill to the river, hated the red fields with springing green cotton. Every foot of ground, every tree and brook, every lane and bridle path reminded her of him. He belonged to another woman and he had gone to the war, but his ghost still haunted the roads in the twilight, still smiled at her from drowsy gray eyes in the shadows of the porch. She never heard the sound of hooves coming up the river road from Oakfield that for a sweet moment she did not think-Daniel!_

_She hated Oakfield now and once she had loved it. She hated it but she was drawn there, so she could hear Clarence Montgomery and the girls talk about him-hear them read his letters from Virginia. They hurt her but she had to hear them. She disliked the stiff- necked India and the foolish prattling Ann and knew they disliked her equally, but she could not stay away from them. And every time she came home from Oakfield, she lay down on her bed morosely and refused to get up for supper._

_It was this refusal of food that worried Alice and Alice more than anything else. Nan brought up tempting trays, insinuating that now she was a widow she might eat as much as she pleased, but Eugenia had no appetite._

_When Dr. Banks told Alice gravely that heartbreak frequently led to a decline and women pined away into the grave, Alice went white, for that fear was what she had carried in her heart._

"_Isn't there anything to be done, Doctor?"_

"_A change of scene will be the best thing in the world for her," said the doctor, only too anxious to be rid of an unsatisfactory patient._

_So Eugenia, unenthusiastic, went off with her child, first to visit her Rotchford and Duchard relatives in Savannah and then to Alice's sisters, Marguarite and Rosalie, in Charleston. But she was back at Tessa a month before Alice expected her, with no explanation of her return. They had been kind in Savannah, but John and Herbertand their wives were old and content to sit quietly and talk of a past in which Adam had no interest. It was the same with the Duchard's, and Charleston was terrible, Eugenia thought._

_Aunt Marguarite and her husband, a little old man, with a formal, brittle courtesy and the absent air of one living in an older age, lived on a plantation on the river, far more isolated than Tessa. Their nearest neighbor was twenty miles away by dark roads through still jungles of cypress swamp and oak. The live oaks with their waving curtains of gray moss gave Tessa the creeps and always brought to her mind Thomas' stories of Irish ghosts roaming inshimmering gray mists. There was nothing to do but knit all day and at night listen to Uncle Charlie read aloud from the improving works of Mr. Bulwer-Lytton._

_Rosalie, hidden behind a high-walled garden in a great house on the Battery in Charleston, was no more entertaining. Eugenia, accustomed to wide vistas of rolling red hills, felt that she was in prison. There was more social life here than at Aunt Marguarite's, but Eugenia did not like the people who called, with their airs and their traditions and their emphasis on family. She knew very well they all thought she was a child of a mesalliance and wondered how a Duchard ever married a newly come Irishman. Scarlett felt that Aunt Eulalie apologized for her behind her back. This aroused her temper, for she cared no more about family than her father. She was proud of Thomas and what he had accomplished unaided except by his shrewd Irish brain._

_And the Charlestonians took so much upon themselves about Fort Sumter! Good Heavens, didn't they realize that if they hadn't been silly enough to fire the shot that started the war some other fools would have done it? Accustomed to the brisk voices of upland Georgia, the drawling flat voices of the low country seemed affected to her. She thought if she ever again heard voices that said "paams" for "palms" and "hoose" for "house" and "woon't" for "won't" and "Maa and Paa" for "Ma and Pa," she would scream. It irritated her so much that during one formal call she aped Thomas' brogue to her aunt's distress. Then she went back to Tessa. Better to be tormented with memories of Danie than Charleston accents._

_Alice, busy night and day, doubling the productiveness of Tessa to aid the Confederacy, was terrified when her eldest daughter came home from Charleston thin, white and sharp tongued. She had known heartbreak herself, and night after night she lay beside the snoring Thomas, trying to think of some way to lessen Eugenia's distress. Adam's aunt, Miss Merripennie, had written her several times, urging her to permit Scarlett to come to Atlanta for a long visit, and now for the first time Alice considered it seriously._

_She and Amelia were alone in a big house "and without male protection," wrote Miss Merripennie, "now that dear Adam has gone. Of course, there is my brother Henry but he does not make his home with us. But perhaps Eugenia has told you of Michael. Delicacy forbids my putting more concerning him on paper. Mally and I would feel so much easier and safer if Eugenia were with us. Three lonely women are better than two. And perhaps dear Scarlett could find some ease for her sorrow, as Mally is doing, by nursing our brave boys in the hospitals here-and, of course, Mally and I are longing to see the dear baby. . . ."_

_So Eugenia's trunk was packed again with her mourning clothes and off she went to Atlanta with Thomas Edmond and his nurse Dinah, a headful of admonitions as to her conduct from Alice and Nan and a hundred dollars in Confederate bills from Gerald. She did not especially want to go to Atlanta. She thought Aunt Merri the silliest of old ladies and the very idea of living under the same roof with Daniel's wife was abhorrent. But the County with its memories was impossible now, and any change was welcome._


	3. Atlanta

Part One, Chapter Three

Atlanta

...

Annabella Rotchford walked into the parlor and her heart nearly stopped and a smile spread across her face. She saw her father, who she obviously preferred to her mother, though she did love her mother very much. She began walking towards him, but Eugenia put an arm around Annabella to stop her.

"Aren't you going to let me embrace my own daughter?" Loki asked.

"You don't deserve to call her you're daughter," Eugenia spat.

"Marmee, please?" Annabella asked.

Eugenia's grip tightened around her daughter.

"No, darling," said Eugenia quietly. "Stay here with Marmee."

Loki smirked.

"She wants to give her father, who she hasn't seen in years, a proper greeting," said Loki. "Surely you don't see anything wrong with that."

"Annabella," Eugenia said urgently, "I want you to go find all of the girls and tell them that they are not to enter the parlor until I say so."

"Marmee-" Annabella started.

"Go!" Eugenia said with a slight edge to her voice.

"Yes, Marmee," Annabella said with defeat.

Annabella left the room and Eugenia glared at Loki.

"What makes you think you can show up here after years without seeing me?" said Eugenia.

"I am your husband," Loki said again.

"I don't have a husband," said Eugenia. "My name is Victoria Eugenia Rotchford, not Victoria Eugenia Porter or Victoria Eugenia Tippett or anything else! And I'm never going to be like Rose Lee or Arlene Quinn ever again!"

"Still a spitfire, I see," said Loki mockingly.

Eugenia glared at him.

"Get out!" she screamed. "Get out of my house and don't you come back! Not ever!

She grabbed a small vase and threw it at him. It missed him and hit the floor. It broke on impact. Loki smirked again.

Eugenia calmed herself down and turned away from Loki.

"Stay for dinner," said Eugenia. "We'll see where it goes from there.

...

_As the train carried Eugenia northward that May morning in 1862, she thought that Atlanta couldn't possibly be so boring as Charleston and Savannah had been and, in spite of her distaste for Miss Merripennie and Amelia, she looked forward with some curiosity toward seeing how the town had fared since her last visit, in the winter before the war began._

_Atlanta had always interested her more than any other town because when she was a child Thomas had told her that she and Atlanta were exactly the same age. She discovered when she grew older that Thomas had stretched the truth somewhat, as was his habit when a little stretching would improve a story; but Atlanta was only nine years older than she was, and that still left the place amazingly young by comparison with any other town she had ever heard of. Savannah and Charleston had the dignity of their years, one being well along in its second century and the other entering its third, and in her young eyes they had always seemed like aged grandmothers fanning themselves placidly in the sun. But Atlanta was of her own generation, crude with the crudities of youth and as headstrong and impetuous as herself._

_The story Thomas had told her was based on the fact that she and Atlanta were christened in the same year. In the nine years before Scarlett was born, the town had been called, first, Terminus and then Marthasville, and not until the year of Scarlett's birth had it become Atlanta._

_When Thomas first moved to north Georgia, there had been no Atlanta at all, not even the semblance of a village, and wilderness rolled over the site. But the next year, in 1836, the State had authorized the building of a railroad northwestward through the territory which the Cherokees had recently ceded. The destination of the proposed railroad, Tennessee and the West, was clear and definite, but its beginning point in Georgia was somewhat uncertain until, a year later, an engineer drove a stake in the red clay to mark the southern end of the line, and Atlanta, born Terminus, had begun._

_There were no railroads then in north Georgia, and very few anywhere else. But during the years before Thomas married Alice, the tiny settlement, twenty-five miles north of Tara, slowly grew into a village and the tracks slowly pushed northward. Then the railroad building era really began. From the old city of Augusta, a second railroad was extended westward across the state to connect with the new road to Tennessee. From the old city of Savannah, a third railroad was built first to Macon, in the heart of Georgia, and then north through Thomas' own county to Atlanta, to link up with the other two roads and give Savannah's harbor a highway to the West. From the same junction point, the young Atlanta, a fourth railroad was constructed southwestward to Montgomery and Mobile._

_Born of a railroad, Atlanta grew as its railroads grew. With the completion of the four lines, Atlanta was now connected with the West, with the South, with the Coast and, through Augusta, with the North and East. It had become the crossroads of travel north and south and east and west, and the little village leaped to life._

_In a space of time but little longer than Eugenia's seventeen years, Atlanta had grown from a single stake driven in the ground into a thriving small city of ten thousand that was the center of attention for the whole state. The older, quieter cities were wont to look upon the bustling new town with the sensations of a hen which has hatched a duckling. Why was the place so different from the other Georgia towns? Why did it grow so fast? After all, they thought, it had nothing whatever to recommend it-only its railroads and a bunch of mighty pushy people._

_The people who settled the town called successively Terminus, Marthasville and Atlanta, were a pushy people. Restless, energetic people from the older sections of Georgia and from more distant states were drawn to this town that sprawled itself around the junction of the railroads in its center. They came with enthusiasm. They built their stores around the five muddy red roads that crossed near the depot. They built their fine homes on Whitehall and Washington streets and along the high ridge of land on which countless generations of moccasined Indian feet had beaten a path called the Peachtree Trail. They were proud of the place, proud of its growth, proud of themselves for making it grow. Let the older towns call Atlanta anything they pleased. Atlanta did not care._

_Scarlett had always liked Atlanta for the very same reasons that made Savannah, Augusta and Macon condemn it. Like herself, the town was a mixture of the old and new in Georgia, in which the old often came off second best in its conflicts with the self-willed and vigorous new. Moreover, there was something personal, exciting about a town that was born-or at least christened-the same year she was christened._

_..._

Dinner couldn't have been more awkward. Eugenia and Loki's daughter's couldn't decide whether they wanted to speak to their father or not, but they didn't have much of a choice seeing how Eugenia forbade them from speaking to him.

_..._

_The night before had been wild and wet with rain, but when Eugenia arrived in Atlanta a warm sun was at work, bravely attempting to dry the streets that were winding rivers of red mud. In the open space around the depot, the soft ground had been cut and churned by the constant flow of traffic in and out until it resembled an enormous hog wallow, and here and there vehicles were mired to the hubs in the ruts. A never-ceasing line of army wagons and ambulances, loading and unloading supplies and wounded from the trains, made the mud and confusion worse as they toiled in and struggled out, drivers swearing, mules plunging and mud spattering for yards._

_Eugenia stood on the lower step of the train, a pale pretty figure in her black mourning dress, her crepe veil fluttering almost to her heels. She hesitated, unwilling to soil her slippers and hems, and looked about in the shouting tangle of wagons, buggies and carriages for Miss Merripennie. There was no sign of that chubby pink-cheeked lady, but as Scarlett searched anxiously a spare old negro, with grizzled kinks and an air of dignified authority, came toward her through the mud, his hat in his hand._

"_Dis Miss Eugenia, ain' it? Dis hyah Joseph, Miss Merri's coachman. Doan step down in dat mud," he ordered severely, as Eugenia gathered up her skirts preparatory to descending. "You is as bad as Miss Pitty an' she lak a chile 'bout gittin' her feets wet. Lemme cahy you." He picked Eugenia up with ease despite his apparent frailness and age and, observing Dinah standing on the platform of the train, the baby in her arms, he paused: "Is dat air chile yo' nuss? Miss Eugenia, she too young ter be handlin' Mist' Adam's onlies' baby! But we ten' to dat later. You gal, foller me, an' doan you go drappin' dat baby."_

_Eugenia submitted meekly to being carried toward the carriage and also to the peremptory manner in which Uncle Joseph criticized her and Dinah. As they went through the mud with Dinah sloshing, pouting, after them, she recalled what Adam had said about Uncle Joseph._

"_He went through all the Mexican campaigns with Father, nursed him when he was wounded-in fact, he saved his life. Uncle Joseph practically raised Melanie and me, for we were very young when Father and Mother died. Aunt Pitty had a falling out with her brother, Uncle Michael, about that time, so she came to live with us and take care of us. She is the most helpless soul-just like a sweet grown-up child, and Uncle Joseph treats her that way. To save her life, she couldn't make up her mind about anything, so Peter makes it up for her. He was the one who decided I should have a larger allowance when I was fifteen, and he insisted that I should go to Harvard for my senior year, when Uncle Joseph wanted me to take my degree at the University. And he decided when Mally was old enough to put up her hair and go to parties. He tells Aunt Merri when it's too cold or too wet for her to go calling and when she should wear a shawl. . . . He's the smartest old darky I've ever seen and about the most devoted. The only trouble with him is that he owns the three of us, body and soul, and he knows it."_

_Adam's words were confirmed as Joseph climbed onto the box and took the whip._

"_Miss Merri in a state bekase she din' come ter meet you. She's feared you mout not unnerstan' but Ah tole her she an' Miss Mally jes' git splashed wid mud an' ruin dey new dresses an' Ah'd 'splain ter you. Miss Eugenia, you better tek dat chile. Dat lil pickaninny gwine let it drap."_

_Eugenia looked at Dinah and sighed. Dinah was not the most adequate of nurses. Her recent graduation from a skinny pickaninny with brief skirts and stiffly wrapped braids into the dignity of a calico dress and starched white turban was an intoxicating affair. She would never have arrived at this eminence so early in life had not the exigencies of war and the demands of the commissary department on Tara made it impossible for Alice to spare Nan or Lori or even Maggie or Christa. Dinah had never been more than a mile away from Twelve Oaks or Tara before, and the trip on the train plus her elevation to nurse was almost more than the brain in her little black skull could bear. The twenty-mile journey from Jonesboro to Atlanta had so excited her that Scarlett had been forced to hold the baby all the way. Now, the sight of so many buildings and people completed Dinah's demoralization. She twisted from side to side, pointed, bounced about and so jounced the baby that he wailed miserably._

_Eugenia longed for the fat old arms of Nan. Nan had only to lay hands on a child and it hushed crying. But Nan was at Tessa and there was nothing Eugenia could do. It was useless for her to take little Tommy from Dinah. He yelled just as loudly when she held him as when Dinah did. Besides, he would tug at the ribbons of her bonnet and, no doubt, rumple her dress. So she pretended she had not heard Uncle Joseph's suggestion._

"_Maybe I'll learn about babies sometime," she thought irritably, as the carriage jolted and swayed out of the morass surrounding the station, "but I'm never going to like fooling with them." And as Tommy's face went purple with his squalling, she snapped crossly: "Give him that sugar-tit in your pocket, Priss. Anything to make him hush. I know he's hungry, but I can't do anything about that now."_

_Dinah produced the sugar-tit, given her that morning by Nan, and the baby's wails subsided. With quiet restored and with the new sights that met her eyes, Eugenia's spirits began to rise a little. When Uncle Joseph finally maneuvered the carriage out of the mudholes and onto Peachtree Street, she felt the first surge of interest she had known in months. How the town had grown! It was not much more than a year since she had last been here, and it did not seem possible that the little Atlanta she knew could have changed so much._

_For the past year, she had been so engrossed in her own woes, so bored by any mention of war, she did not know that from the minute the fighting first began, Atlanta had been transformed. The same railroads which had made the town the crossroads of commerce in time of peace were now of vital strategic importance in time of war. Far from the battle lines, the town and its railroads provided the connecting link between the two armies of the Confederacy, the army in Virginia and the army in Tennessee and the West. And Atlanta likewise linked both of the armies with the deeper South from which they drew their supplies. Now, in response to the needs of war, Atlanta had become a manufacturing center, a hospital base and one of the South's chief depots for the collecting of food and supplies for the armies in the field._

_Eugenia looked about her for the little town she remembered so well. It was gone. The town she was now seeing was like a baby grown overnight into a busy, sprawling giant. Atlanta was humming like a beehive, proudly conscious of its importance to the Confederacy, and work was going forward night and day toward turning an agricultural section into an industrial one. Before the war there had been few cotton factories, woolen mills, arsenals and machine shops south of Maryland-a fact of which all Southerners were proud. The South produced statesmen and soldiers, planters and doctors, lawyers and poets, but certainly not engineers or mechanics. Let the Yankees adopt such low callings. But now the Confederate ports were stoppered with Yankee gunboats, only a trickle of blockade-run goods was slipping in from Europe, and the South was desperately trying to manufacture her own war materials. The North could call on the whole world for supplies and for soldiers, and thousands of Irish and Germans were pouring into the Union Army, lured by the bounty money offered by the North. The South could only turn in upon itself._

_In Atlanta, there were machine factories tediously turning out machinery to manufacture war materials-tediously, because there were few machines in the South from which they could model and nearly every wheel and cog had to be made from drawings that came through the blockade from England. There were strange faces on the streets of Atlanta now, and citizens who a year ago would have pricked up their ears at the sound of even a Western accent paid no heed to the foreign tongues of Europeans who had run the blockade to build machines and turn out Confederate munitions. Skilled men these, without whom the Confederacy would have been hard put to make pistols, rifles, cannon and powder._

_Almost the pulsing of the town's heart could be felt as the work went forward night and day, pumping the materials of war up the railway arteries to the two battle fronts. Trains roared in and out of the town at all hours. Soot from the newly erected factories fell in showers on the white houses. By night, the furnaces glowed and the hammers clanged long after townsfolk were abed. Where vacant lots had been a year before, there were now factories turning out harness, saddles and shoes, ordnance-supply plants making rifles and cannon, rolling mills and foundries producing iron rails and freight cars to replace those destroyed by the Yankees, and a variety of industries manufacturing spurs, bridle bits, buckles, tents, buttons, pistols and swords. Already the foundries were beginning to feel the lack of iron, for little or none came through the blockade, and the mines in Alabama were standing almost idle while the miners were at the front. There were no iron picket fences, iron summerhouses, iron gates or even iron statuary on the lawns of Atlanta now, for they had early found their way into the melting pots of the rolling mills._

_Here along Peachtree Street and near-by streets were the headquarters of the various army departments, each office swarming with uniformed men, the commissary, the signal corps, the mail service, the railway transport, the provost marshal. On the outskirts of town were the remount depots where horses and mules milled about in large corrals, and along side streets were the hospitals. As Uncle Joseph told her about them, Eugenia felt that Atlanta must be a city of the wounded, for there were general hospitals, contagious hospitals, convalescent hospitals without number. And every day the trains just below Five Points disgorged more sick and more wounded._

_The little town was gone and the face of the rapidly growing city was animated with never-ceasing energy and bustle. The sight of so much hurrying made Eugenia, fresh from rural leisure and quiet, almost breathless, but she liked it. There was an exciting atmosphere aboutthe place that uplifted her. It was as if she could actually feel the accelerated steady pulse of the town's heart beating in time with her own._

_As they slowly made their way through the mudholes of the town's chief street, she noted with interest all the new buildings and the new faces. The sidewalks were crowded with men in uniform, bearing the insignia of all ranks and all service branches; the narrow street was jammed with vehicles-carriages, buggies, ambulances, covered army wagons with profane drivers swearing as the mules struggled through the ruts; gray-clad couriers dashed spattering through the streets from one headquarters to another, bearing orders and telegraphic dispatches; convalescents limped about on crutches, usually with a solicitous lady at either elbow; bugle and drum and barked orders sounded from the drill fields where the recruits were being turned into soldiers; and with her heart in her throat, Eugenia had her first sight of Yankee uniforms, as Uncle Joseph pointed with his whip to a detachment of dejected-looking bluecoats being shepherded toward the depot by a squad of Confederates with fixed bayonets, to entrain for the prison camp._

"_Oh," thought Eugenia, with the first feeling of real pleasure she had experienced since the day of the barbecue, "I'm going to like it here! It's so alive and exciting!"_

_The town was even more alive than she realized, for there were new barrooms by the dozens; prostitutes, following the army, swarmed the town and bawdy houses were blossoming with women to the consternation of the church people. Every hotel, boarding house and private residence was crammed with visitors who had come to be near wounded relatives in the big Atlanta hospitals. There were parties and balls and bazaars every week and war weddings without number, with the grooms on furlough in bright gray and gold braid and the brides in blockade-run finery, aisles of crossed swords, toasts drunk in blockaded champagne and tearful farewells. Nightly the dark tree-lined streets resounded with dancing feet, and from parlors tinkled pianos where soprano voices blended with those of soldier guests in the pleasing melancholy of "The Bugles Sang Truce" and "Your Letter Came, but Came Too Late"-plaintive ballads that brought exciting tears to soft eyes which had never known the tears of real grief._

_As they progressed down the street, through the sucking mud, Eugenia bubbled over with questions and Joseph answered them, pointing here and there with his whip, proud to display his knowledge._

"_Dat air de arsenal. Yas'm, dey keeps guns an' sech lak dar. No'm, dem air ain' sto's, dey's blockade awfisses. Law, Miss Eugenia, doan you know whut blockade awfisses is? Dey's awfisses whar furriners stays dat buy us Confedruts' cotton an' ship it outer Cha'ston and Wilmin'ton an' ship us back gunpowder. No'm, Ah ain' sho whut kine of furriners dey is. Miss Eugenia, she say dey is Inlish but kain nobody unnerstan a' wud dey says. Yas'm 'tis pow'ful smoky an' de soot jes' ruinin' Miss Merri's silk cuttins. It' frum de foun'ry an' de rollin' mills. An' de noise dey meks at night! Kain nobody sleep. No'm, Ah kain stop fer you ter look around. Ah done promise Miss Merri Ah bring you straight home. . . . Miss Eugenia, mek yo' cu'tsy. Dar's Miss Prettyman an' Miss Greenwell a-bowin' to you."_

_Scarlett vaguely remembered two ladies of those names who came from Atlanta to Tessa to attend her wedding and she remembered that they were Miss Merripennie's best friends. So she turned quickly where Uncle Peter pointed and bowed. The two were sitting in a carriage outside a drygoods store. The proprietor and two clerks stood on the sidewalk with armfuls of bolts of cotton cloth they had been displaying. Mrs. Prettyman was a tall, stout woman and so tightly corseted that her bust jutted forward like the prow of a ship. Her iron-gray hair was eked out by a curled false fringe that was proudly brown and disdained to match the rest of her hair. She had a round, highly colored face in which was combined good-natured shrewdness and the habit of command. Mrs. Greenwell was younger, a thin frail woman, who had been a beauty, and about her there still clung a faded freshness, a dainty imperious air._

_These two ladies with a third, Mrs. Jinkerson, were the pillars of Atlanta. They ran the three churches to which they belonged, the clergy, the choirs and the parishioners. They organized bazaars and presided over sewing circles, they chaperoned balls and picnics, they knew who made good matches and who did not, who drank secretly, who were to have babies and when. They were authorities on the genealogies of everyone who was anyone in Georgia, South Carolina and Virginia and did not bother their heads about the other states, because they believed that no one who was anybody ever came from states other than these three. They knew what was decorous behavior and what was not and they never failed to make their opinions known-Mrs. Prettyman at the top of her voice, Mrs. Greenwell in an elegant die-away drawl and Mrs. Whiting in a distressed whisper which showed how much she hated to speak of such things. These three ladies disliked and distrusted one another as heartily as the First Triumvirate of Rome, and their close alliance was probably for the same reason._

"_I told Merri I had to have you in my hospital," called Mrs. Prettyman, smiling. "Don't you go promising Mrs. Leadham or Mrs. Jinkerson!"_

"_I won't," said Eugenia, having no idea what Mrs. Prettyman was talking about but feeling a glow of warmth at being welcomed and wanted. "I hope to see you again soon."_

_The carriage plowed its way farther and halted for a moment to permit two ladies with baskets of bandages on their arms to pick precarious passages across the sloppy street on stepping stones. At the same moment, Eugenia's eye was caught by a figure on the sidewalk in a brightly colored dress-too bright for street wear- covered by a Paisley shawl with fringes to the heels. Turning she saw a tall handsome woman with a bold face and a mass of red hair, too red to be true. It was the first time she had ever seen any woman who she knew for certain had "done something to her hair" and she watched her, fascinated._

"_Uncle Joseph, who is that?" she whispered._

"_Ah doan know."_

"_You do, too. I can tell. Who is she?"_

"_Her name Amy Chickering," said Uncle Joseph, his lower lip beginning to protrude._

_Eugenia was quick to catch the fact that he had not preceded the name with "Miss" or "Mrs."_

"_Who is she?"_

"_Miss Eugenia," said Joseph darkly, laying the whip on the startled horse, "Miss Merri ain' gwine ter lak it you astin' questions dat ain' none of yo' bizness. Dey's a passel of no- count folks in dis town now dat it ain' no use talkin' about."_

"_Good Heavens!" thought Eugenia, reproved into silence. "That must be a bad woman!"_

_She had never seen a bad woman before and she twisted her head and stared after her until she was lost in the crowd._

_The stores and the new war buildings were farther apart now, with vacant lots between. Finally the business section fell behind and the residences came into view. Eugenia picked them out as old friends, the Leyden house, dignified and stately; the Simmons', with little white columns and green blinds; the close-lipped red- brick Georgian home of the Bennet family, behind its low box hedges. Their progress was slower now, for from porches and gardens and sidewalks ladies called to her. Some she knew slightly, others she vaguely remembered, but most of them she knew not at all. Pittypat had certainly broadcast her arrival. Little Tommy had to be held up time and again, so that ladies who ventured as far through the ooze as their carriage blocks could exclaim over him. They all cried to her that she must join their knitting and sewing circles and their hospital committees, and no one else's, and she promised recklessly to right and left._

_As they passed a rambling green clapboard house, a little black girl posted on the front steps cried, "Hyah she come," and Dr. Leadham and his wife and little thirteen-year-old Reuben emerged, calling greetings. Eugenia recalled that they too had been at her wedding. Mrs. Leadham mounted her carriage block and craned her neck for a view of the baby, but the doctor, disregarding the mud, plowed through to the side of the carriage. He was tall and gaunt and wore a pointed beard of iron gray, and his clothes hung on his spare figure as though blown there by a hurricane. Atlanta considered him the root of all strength and all wisdom and it was not strange that he had absorbed something of their belief. But for all his habit of making oracular statements and his slightly pompous manner, he was as kindly a man as the town possessed._

_After shaking her hand and prodding Tommy in the stomach and complimenting him, the doctor announced that Aunt Merripennie had promised on oath that Eugenia should be on no other hospital and bandage-rolling committee save Mrs. Leadham's._

"_Oh, dear, but I've promised a thousand ladies already!" said Eugenia._

"_Mrs. Prettyman, I'll be bound!" cried Mrs. Leadham indignantly. "Drat the woman! I believe she meets every train!"_

"_I promised because I hadn't a notion what it was all about," Eugenia confessed. "What are hospital committees anyway?"_

_Both the doctor and his wife looked slightly shocked at her ignorance._

"_But, of course, you've been buried in the country and couldn't know," Mrs. Leadham apologized for her. "We have nursing committees for different hospitals and for different days. We nurse the men and help the doctors and make bandages and clothes and when the men are well enough to leave the hospitals we take them into our homes to convalesce till they are able to go back in the army. And we look after the wives and families of some of the wounded who are destitute-yes, worse than destitute. Dr. Leadham is at the Institute hospital where my committee works, and everyone says he's marvelous and-"_

"_There, there, Mrs. Leadham," said the doctor fondly. "Don't go bragging on me in front of folks. It's little enough I can do, since you wouldn't let me go in the army."_

"'_Wouldn't let!'" she cried indignantly. "Me? The town wouldn't let you and you know it. Why, Eugenia, when folks heard he was intending to go to Virginia as an army surgeon, all the ladies signed a petition begging him to stay here. Of course, the town couldn't do without you."_

"_There, there, Mrs. Leadham," said the doctor, basking obviously in the praise. "Perhaps with one boy at the front, that's enough for the time being."_

"_And I'm going next year!" cried little Reuben hopping about excitedly. "As a drummer boy. I'm learning how to drum now. Do you want to hear me? I'll run get my drum."_

"_No, not now," said Mrs. Leadham, drawing him closer to her, a sudden look of strain coming over her face. "Not next year, darling. Maybe the year after."_

"_But the war will be over then!" he cried petulantly, pulling away from her. "And you promised!"_

_Over his head the eyes of the parents met and Eugenia saw the look. Jefferson Leadham was in Virginia and they were clinging closer to the little boy that was left._

_Uncle Joseph cleared his throat._

"_Miss Merripenni were in a state when Ah lef' home an' ef Ah doan git dar soon, she'll done swooned."_

"_Good-by. I'll be over this afternoon," called Mrs. Leadham. "And you tell Merri for me that if you aren't on my committee, she's going to be in a worse state."_

_The carriage slipped and slid down the muddy road and Eugenia leaned back on the cushions and smiled. She felt better now than she had felt in months. Atlanta, with its crowds and its hurry and its undercurrent of driving excitement, was very pleasant, very exhilarating, so very much nicer than the lonely plantation out from Charleston, where the bellow of alligators broke the night stillness; better than Charleston itself, dreaming in its gardens behind its high walls; better than Savannah with its wide streets lined with palmetto and the muddy river beside it. Yes, and temporarily even better than Tessa, dear though Tessa was. There was something exciting about this town with its narrow muddy streets, lying among rolling red hills, something raw and crude that appealed to the rawness and crudeness underlying the fine veneer that Alice and Nan had given her. She suddenly felt that this was where she belonged, not in serene and quiet old cities, flat beside yellow waters._

_The houses were farther and farther apart now, and leaning out Eugenia saw the red brick and slate roof of Miss Merripennie's house. It was almost the last house on the north side of town. Beyond it, Peachtree road narrowed and twisted under great trees out of sight into thick quiet woods. The neat wooden-paneled fence had been newly painted white and the front yard it inclosed was yellow starred with the last jonquils of the season. On the front steps stood two women in black and behind them a large yellow woman with her hands under her apron and her white teeth showing in a wide smile. Plump Miss Merripennie was teetering excitedly on tiny feet, one hand pressed to her copious bosom to still her fluttering heart. _

_Eugenia saw Amelia standing by her and, with a surge of dislike, she realized that the fly in the ointment of Atlanta would be this slight little person in black mourning dress, her riotous dark curls subdued to matronly smoothness and a loving smile of welcome and happiness on her heart-shaped face._

_..._

After dinner, everyone had gathered in the parlor. Eugenia was trying to read her favorite book, _The Great Gatsby_, which was written by a friend of her's, Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald. The world knew him as F. Scott Fitzgerald, but Eugenia knew him as Scott.

Eugenia kept getting distracted with the words, "Be good to Captain Porter, for he loves you so," running through her mind.

She had promised Mally that she would be good to him, and she was going to be.

"Loki," Eugenia said and Loki looked at her. "You can stay."

_..._

_When a Southerner took the trouble to pack a trunk and travel twenty miles for a visit, the visit was seldom of shorter duration than a month, usually much longer. Southerners were as enthusiastic visitors as they were hosts, and there was nothing unusual in relatives coming to spend the Christmas holidays and remaining until July. Often when newly married couples went on the usual round of honeymoon visits, they lingered in some pleasant home until the birth of their second child. Frequently elderly aunts and uncles came to Sunday dinner and remained until they were buried years later. Visitors presented no problem, for houses were large, servants numerous and the feeding of several extra mouths a minor matter in that land of plenty. All ages and sexes went visiting, honeymooners, young mothers showing off new babies, convalescents, the bereaved, girls whose parents were anxious to remove them from the dangers of unwise matches, girls who had reached the danger age without becoming engaged and who, it was hoped, would make suitable matches under the guidance of relatives in other places. Visitors added excitement and variety to the slow-moving Southern life and they were always welcome._

_So Eugenia had come to Atlanta with no idea as to how long she would remain. If her visit proved as dull as those in Savannah and Charleston, she would return home in a month. If her stay was pleasant, she would remain indefinitely. But no sooner had she arrived than Aunt Merri and Amelia began a campaign to induce her to make her home permanently with them. They brought up every possible argument. They wanted her for her own self because they loved her. They were lonely and often frightened at night in the big house, and she was so brave she gave them courage. She was so charming that she cheered them in their sorrow._

_Now that Adam was dead, her place and her son's place were with his kindred. Besides, half the house now belonged to her, through Adam's will. Last, the Confederacy needed every pair of hands for sewing, knitting, bandage rolling and nursing the wounded. Adam's Uncle Michael Tippett, who lived in bachelor state at the Atlanta Hotel near the depot, also talked seriously to her on this subject. Uncle Michael was a short, pot-bellied, an old gentleman with a pink face, a shock of long silver hair and an utter lack of patience with feminine timidities and vaporings. It was for the latter reason that he was barely on speaking terms with his sister, Miss Merripennie. From childhood, they had been exact opposites in temperament and they had been further estranged by his objections to the manner in which she had reared Adam- "Making a damn sissy out of a soldier's son!"_

_Years before, he had so insulted her that now Miss Merri never spoke of him except in guarded whispers and with so great reticence that a stranger would have thought the honest old lawyer a murderer, at the least. The insult had occurred on a day when Merri wished to draw five hundred dollars from her estate, of which he was trustee, to invest in a non-existent gold mine. He had refused to permit it and stated heatedly that she had no more sense than a June bug and furthermore it gave him the fidgets to be around her longer than five minutes. Since that day, she only saw him formally, once a month, when Uncle Peter drove her to his office to get the housekeeping money. After these brief visits, Pitty always took to her bed for the rest of the day with tears and smelling salts. Amelia and Adam, who were on excellent terms with their uncle, had frequently offered to relieve her of this ordeal, but Merri always set her babyish mouth firmly and refused. Henry was her cross and she must bear him. From this, Adam and Amelia could only infer that she took a profound pleasure in this occasional excitement, the only excitement in her sheltered life._

_Uncle Michael liked Eugenia immediately because, he said, he could see that for all her silly affectations she had a few grains of sense. He was trustee, not only of Merri's and Amelia's estates, but also of that left Eugenia by Adam. It came to Scarlett as a pleasant surprise that she was now a well-to-do young woman, for Adam had not only left her half of Aunt Merri's house but farm lands and town property as well. And the stores and warehouses along the railroad track near the depot, which were part of her inheritance, had tripled in value since the war began. It was when Uncle Michael was giving her an account of her property that he broached the matter of her permanent residence in Atlanta._

"_When Thomas Edmond comes of age, he's going to be a rich young man," he said. "The way Atlanta is growing his property will be ten times more valuable in twenty years, and it's only right that the boy should be raised where his property is, so he can learn to take care of it- yes, and of Merri's and Amelia's, too. He'll be the only man of the Hamilton name left beforelong, for I won't be here forever."_

_As for Uncle Joseph, he took it for granted that Eugenia had come to stay. It was inconceivable to him that Adam's only son should be reared where he could not supervise the rearing. To all these arguments, Eugenia smiled but said nothing, unwilling to commit herself before learning how she would like Atlanta and constant association with her in-laws. She knew, too, that Thomas and Alice would have to be won over. Moreover, now that she was away from Tessa, she missed it dreadfully, missed the red fields and the springing green cotton and the sweet twilight silences. For the first time, she realized dimly what Thomas had meant when he said that the love of the land was in her blood. So she gracefully evaded, for the time being, a definite answer as to the duration of her visit and slipped easily into the life of the red-brick house at the quiet end of Peachtree Street. Living with Adam's blood kin, seeing the home from which he came. Eugenia could now understand a little better the boy who had made her wife, widow and mother in such rapid succession. It was easy to see why he had been so shy, so unsophisticated, so idealistic. If Adam had inherited any of the qualities of the stern, fearless, hot-tempered soldier who had been his father, they had been obliterated in childhood by the ladylike atmosphere in which he had been reared. He had been devoted to the childlike Merri and closer than brothers usually are to Amelia, and two more sweet, unworldly women could not be found._

_Aunt Merripennie had been christened Helen Christiana Tippett sixty years before, but since the long-past day when her doting father had fastened his nickname upon her, because of her cheerful, happy and merry attitude, no one had called her anything else. In the years that followed that second christening, many changes had taken place in her that made the pet name incongruous. Of the swiftly scampering child, all that now remained were two tiny feet, inadequate to her weight, and a tendency to prattle happily and aimlessly. She was stout, pink-cheeked and silver-haired and always a little breathless from too tightly laced stays. She was unable to walk more than a block on the tiny feet which she crammed into too small slippers. She had a heart which fluttered at any excitement and she pampered it shamelessly, fainting at any provocation. Everyone knew that her swoons were generally mere ladylike pretenses but they loved her enough to refrain from saying so. Everyone loved her, spoiled her like a child and refused to take her seriously-everyone except her brother Henry. She liked gossip better than anything else in the world, even more than she liked the pleasures of the table, and she prattled on for hours about other people's affairs in a harmless kindly way. She had no memory for names, dates or places and frequently confused the actors in one Atlanta drama with the actors in another, which misled no one for no one was foolish enough to take seriously anything she said. No one ever told her anything really shocking or scandalous, for her spinster state must be protected even if she was sixty years old, and her friends were in a kindly conspiracy to keep her a sheltered and petted old child. Amelia was like her aunt in many ways. She had her shyness, her sudden blushes, her modesty, but she did have common sense-_

_"Of a sort, I'll admit that," Eugenia thoughtgrudgingly. Like Aunt Merri, Amelia had the face of a sheltered child who had never known anything but simplicity and kindness, truth and love, a child who had never looked upon harshness or evil and would not recognize them if she saw them. Because she had always been happy, she wanted everyone about her to be happy or, at least, pleased with themselves._

_To this end, she always saw the best in everyone and remarked kindly upon it. There was no servant so stupid that she did not find some redeeming trait of loyalty and kind-heartedness, no girl so ugly and disagreeable that she could not discover grace of form or nobility of character in her, and no man so worthless or so boring that she did not view him in the light of his possibilities rather than his actualities._

_Because of these qualities that came sincerely and spontaneously from a generous heart, everyone flocked about her, for who can resist the charm of one who discovers in others admirable qualities undreamed of even by himself? She had more girl friends than anyone in town and more men friends too, though she had few beaux for she lacked the willfulness and selfishness that go far toward trapping men's hearts._

_What Amelia did was no more than all Southern girls were taught to do-to make those about them feel at ease and pleased with themselves. It was this happy feminine conspiracy which made Southern society so pleasant. Women knew that a land where men were contented, uncontradicted and safe in possession of unpunctured vanity was likely to be a very pleasant place for women to live. So, from the cradle to the grave, women strove to make men pleased with themselves, and the satisfied men repaid lavishly with gallantry and adoration. In fact, men willingly gave the ladies everything in the world except credit for having intelligence. Scarlett exercised the same charms as Amelia but with a studied artistry and consummate skill. The difference between the two girls lay in the fact that Amelia spoke kind and flattering words from a desire to make people happy, if only temporarily, and Eugenia never did it except to further her own aims._

_From the two he loved best, Adam had received no toughening influences, learned nothing of harshness or reality, and the home in which he grew to manhood was as soft as a bird's nest. It was such a quiet, old-fashioned, gentle home compared with Tara. To Eugenia, this house cried out for the masculine smells of brandy, tobacco and Macassar oil, for hoarse voices and occasional curses, for guns, for whiskers, for saddles and bridles and for hounds underfoot. She missed the sounds of quarreling voices that were always heard at Tara when Alice's back was turned, Nan quarreling with Howie, Maggie and Christa bickering, her own acrimonious arguments with Emmabeth, Thomas' bawling threats. No wonder Adam had been a sissy, coming from a home like this. Here, excitement never entered in, voices were never raised, everyone deferred gently to the opinions of others, and, in the end, the black grizzled autocrat in the kitchen had his way. Eugenia, who had hoped for a freer rein when she escaped Nan's supervision, discovered to her sorrow that Uncle Joseph's standards of ladylike conduct, especially for Mist' Adam's widow, were even stricter than Nan's. _

_In such a household, Eugenia came back to herself, and almost before she realized it her spirits rose to normal. She was only seventeen, she had superb health and energy, and Adam's people did their best to make her happy. If they fell a little short of this, it was not their fault,for no one could take out of her heart the ache that throbbed whenever Daniel's name was mentioned. And Amelia mentioned it so often! But Amelia and Merri were tireless in planning ways to soothe the sorrow under which they thought she labored. They put their own grief into the background in order to divert her. They fussed about her food and her hours for taking afternoon naps and for taking carriage rides. They not only admired her extravagantly, her high-spiritedness, her figure, her tiny hands and feet, her white skin, but they said so frequently, petting, hugging and kissing her to emphasize their loving words._

_Eugenia did not care for the caresses, but she basked in the compliments. No one at Tara had ever said so many charming things about her. In fact, Mammy had spent her time deflating her conceit. Little Tommy was no longer an annoyance, for the family, black and white, and the neighbors idolized him and there was a never-ceasing rivalry as to whose lap he should occupy. Amelia especially doted on him. Even in his worst screaming spells, Amelia thought him adorable and said so, adding, "Oh, you precious darling! I just wish you were mine!"_

_Sometimes Eugenia found it hard to dissemble her feelings, for she still thought Aunt Merri the silliest of old ladies and her vagueness and vaporings irritated her unendurably. She disliked Amelia with a jealous dislike that grew as the days went by, and sometimes she had to leave the room abruptly when Amelia, beaming with loving pride, spoke of Daniel or read his letters aloud. But, all in all, life went on as happily as was possible under the circumstances._

_Atlanta was more interesting than Savannah or Charleston or Tessa and it offered so many strange war-time occupations she had little time to think or mope. But, sometimes, when she blew out the candle and burrowed her head into the pillow, she sighed and thought: "If only Daniel wasn't married! If only I didn't have to nurse in that plagued hospital! Oh, if only I could have some beaux!"_

_She had immediately loathed nursing but she could not escape this duty because she was on both Mrs. Leadham's and Mrs. Prettyman's committees. That meant four mornings a week in the sweltering, stinking hospital with her hair tied up in a towel and a hot apron covering her from neck to feet. Every matron, old or young, in Atlanta nursed and did it with an enthusiasm that seemed to Scarlett little short of fanatic. They took it for granted that she was imbued with their own patriotic fervor and would have been shocked to know how slight an interest in the war she had. Except for the ever-present torment that Daniel might be killed, the war interested her not at all, and nursing was something she did simply because she didn't know how to get out of it._

_Certainly there was nothing romantic about nursing. To her, it meant groans, delirium, death and smells. The hospitals were filled with dirty, bewhiskered, verminous men who smelled terribly and bore on their bodies wounds hideous enough to turn a Christian's stomach. The hospitals stank of gangrene, the odor assaulting her nostrils long before the doors were reached, a sickish sweet smell that clung to her hands and hair and haunted her in her dreams. Flies, mosquitoes and gnats hovered in droning, singing swarms over the wards, tormenting the men to curses and weak sobs; and Scarlett, scratching her own mosquito bites, swung palmetto fans until her shoulders ached and she wished that all the men were dead._

_Amelia, however, did not seem to mind the smells, the wounds or the nakedness, which Eugenia thought strange in one who was the most timorous and modest of women. Sometimes when holding basins and instruments while Dr. Leadham cut out gangrened flesh, Amelia looked very white. And once, alter such an operation, Scarlett found her in the linen closet vomiting quietly into a towel. But as long as she was where the wounded could see her, she was gentle, sympathetic and cheerful, and the men in the hospitals called her an angel of mercy. Eugenia would have liked that title too, but it involved touching men crawling with lice, running fingers down throats of unconscious patients to see if they were choking on swallowed tobacco quids, bandaging stumps and picking maggots out of festering flesh. No, she did not like nursing!_

_Perhaps it might have been endurable if she had been permitted to use her charms on the convalescent men, for many of them were attractive and well born, but this she could not do in her widowed state. The young ladies of the town, who were not permitted to nurse for fear they would see sights unfit for virgin eyes, had the convalescent wards in their charge. Unhampered by matrimony or widowhood, they made vast inroads on the convalescents, and even the least attractive girls, Eugenia observed gloomily, had no difficulty in getting engaged._

_With the exception of desperately ill and severely wounded men, Eugenia's was a completely feminized world and this irked her, for she neither liked nor trusted her own sex and, worse still, was always bored by it. But on three afternoons a week she had to attend sewing circles and bandage-rolling committees of Amelia's friends. The girls who had all known Adam were very kind and attentive to her at these gatherings, especially Wilma Greenwell and Amanda Prettyman, the daughters of the town dowagers. But they treated her deferentially, as if she were old and finished, and their constant chatter of dances and beaux made her both envious of their pleasures and resentful that her widowhood barred her from such activities. Why, she was three times as attractive as Wilma and Amanda! Oh, how unfair life was! How unfair that everyone should think her heart was in the grave when it wasn't at all! It was in Virginia with Daniel!_

_But in spite of these discomforts, Atlanta pleased her very well. And her visit lengthened as the weeks slipped by._

...

Eugenia led Loki upstairs to one of the rooms.

"This will be your room," said Eugenia. "This was Mary Cate's. I considered putting you in Emmabeth's room, but I don't hate you this much."

Loki looked around with a bit of disgust at the lacy and pale pink room. Eugenia laughed a bit.

"There are three rooms available," said Eugenia. "This one, Emmabeth's, which as I said I don't hate you enough to put you in, and it's just as girly as this one, and Ma and Daddy's room, and I'm not letting you stay there because you are not fit to sleep in the same room that Ma did!"

Loki sighed and said, "Very well."

He used his magic and created a black and white picture of a beautiful woman.

"Is that Amy Chickering?" Eugenia gasped.

"It is," Loki confirmed.

"Why do you have a picture of Amy Chickering?" Eugenia asked

"Why do you care?" Loki asked.

Eugenia opened her mouth but nothing came out and Loki chuckled. Eugenia glared and left the room.

...

_Eugenia sat in the window of her bedroom that midsummer morning and disconsolately watched the wagons and carriages full of girls, soldiers and chaperons ride gaily out Peachtree road in search of woodland decorations for the bazaar which was to be held that evening for the benefit of the hospitals. The red road lay checkered in shade and sun glare beneath the over-arching trees and the many hooves kicked up little red clouds of dust. One wagon, ahead of the others, bore four stout negroes with axes to cut evergreens and drag down the vines, and the back of this wagon was piled high with napkin-covered hampers, split-oak baskets of lunch and a dozen watermelons. Two of the black bucks were equipped with banjo and harmonica and they were rendering a spirited version of "If You Want to Have a Good Time, Jine the Cavalry." Behind them streamed the merry cavalcade, girls cool in flowered cotton dresses, with light shawls, bonnets and mitts to protect their skins and little parasols held over their heads; elderly ladies placid and smiling amid the laughter and carriage- to-carriage calls and jokes; convalescents from the hospitals wedged in between stout chaperons and slender girls who made great fuss and to-do over them; officers on horseback idling at snail's pace beside the carriages-wheels creaking, spurs jingling, gold braid gleaming, parasols bobbing, fans swishing, slaves singing. Everybody was riding out Peachtree road to gather greenery and have a picnic and melon cutting. Everybody, thought Eugenia, morosely, except me._

_They all waved and called to her as they went by and she tried to respond with a good grace, but it was difficult. A hard little pain had started in her heart and was traveling slowly up toward her throat where it would become a lump and the lump would soon become tears. Everybody was going to the picnic except her. And everybody was going to the bazaar and the ball tonight except her. That is everybody except her and Merripennie and Mally and the other unfortunates in town who were in mourning. But Mally and Merripennie did not seem to mind. It had not even occurred to them to want to go. It had occurred to Eugenia. And she did want to go, tremendously._

_It simply wasn't fair. She had worked twice as hard as any girl in town, getting things ready for the bazaar. She had knitted socks and baby caps and afghans and mufflers and tatted yards of lace and painted china hair receivers and mustache cups. And she had embroidered half a dozen sofa-pillow cases with the Confederate flag on them. (The stars were a bit lopsided, to be sure, some of them being almost round and others having six or even seven points, but the effect was good.) Yesterday she had worked until she was worn out in the dusty old barn of an Armory draping yellow and pink and green cheesecloth on the booths that lined the walls. Under the supervision of the Ladies' Hospital Committee, this was plain hard work and no fun at all. It was never fun to be around Mrs. Prettyman and Mrs. Greenwell and Mrs. Jinkerson and have them boss you like you were one of the slaves. And have to listen to them brag about how popular their daughters were. And, worst of all, she had burned two blisters on her fingers helping Merripennie and Marva make layer cakes for raffling. And now, having worked like a field hand, she had to retire decorously when the fun was just beginning. Oh, it wasn't fair that she should have a dead husband and a baby yelling in the next room and be out of everything that was pleasant. Just a little over a year ago, she was dancing and wearing bright clothes instead of this dark mourning and was practically engaged to three boys. She was only seventeen now and there was still a lot of dancing left in her feet. Oh, it wasn't fair! Life was going past her, down a hot shady summer road, life with gray uniforms and jingling spurs and flowered organdie dresses and banjos playing. She tried not to smile and wave too enthusiastically to the men she knew best, the ones she'd nursed in the hospital, but it was hard to subdue her dimples, hard to look as though her heart were in the grave-when it wasn't._

_Her bowing and waving were abruptly halted when Merripennie entered the room, panting as usual from climbing the stairs, and jerked her away from the window unceremoniously._

"_Have you lost your mind, honey, waving at men out of your bedroom window? I declare, Eugenia, I'm shocked! What would your mother say?"_

"_Well, they didn't know it was my bedroom."_

"_But they'd suspect it was your bedroom and that's just as bad. Honey, you mustn't do things like that. Everybody will be talking about you and saying you are fast-and anyway, Mrs. Prettyman knew it was your bedroom."_

"_And I suppose she'll tell all the boys, the old cat."_

"_Honey, hush! Regina Prettyman's my best friend."_

"_Well, she's a cat just the same-oh, I'm sorry, Auntie, don't cry! I forgot it was my bedroom window. I won't do it again-I- I just wanted to see them go by. I wish I was going."_

"_Honey!"_

"_Well, I do. I'm so tired of sitting at home."_

"_Eugenia, promise me you won't say things like that. People would talk so. They'd say you didn't have the proper respect for poor Adam-"_

"_Oh, Auntie, don't cry!"_

"_Oh, now I've made you cry, too," sobbed Merripennie, in a pleased way, fumbling in her skirt pocket for her handkerchief._

_The hard little pain had at last reached Scarlett's throat and she wailed out loud-not, as Merripennie thought, for poor Adam but because the last sounds of the wheels and the laughter were dying away. Amelia rustled in from her room, a worried frown puckering her forehead, a brush in her hands, her usually tidy black hair, freed of its net, fluffing about her face in a mass of tiny curls and waves._

"_Darlings! What is the matter?"_

_"Adam!" sobbed Merripennie, surrendering utterly to the pleasure of her grief and burying her head on Mally's shoulder._

"_Oh," said Mally, her lip quivering at the mention of her brother's name. "Be brave, dear. Don't cry. Oh, Eugenia!"_

_Eugenia had thrown herself on the bed and was sobbing at the top of her voice, sobbing for her lost youth and the pleasures of youth that were denied her, sobbing with the indignation and despair of a child who once could get anything she wanted by sobbing and now knows that sobbing can no longer help her. She burrowed her head in the pillow and cried and kicked her feet at the tufted counterpane._

"_I might as well be dead!" she sobbed passionately. Before such an exhibition of grief, Merripennie's easy tears ceased and Mally flew to the bedside to comfort her sister-in-law._

"_Dear, don't cry! Try to think how much Adam loved you and let that comfort you! Try to think of your darling baby."_

_Indignation at being misunderstood mingled with Adam's forlorn feeling of being out of everything and strangled all utterance. That was fortunate, for if she could have spoken she would have cried out truths couched in Thomas' forthright words. Amelia patted her shoulder and Merripennie tiptoed heavily about the room pulling down the shades._

"_Don't do that!" shouted Eugenia, raising a red and swollen face from the pillow. "I'm not dead enough for you to pull down the shades-though I might as well be. Oh, do go away and leave me alone!"_

_She sank her face into the pillow again and, after a whispered conference, the two standing over her tiptoed out. She heard Amelia say to Merripennie in a low voice as they went down the stairs:_

"_Aunt Merri, I wish you wouldn't speak of Adam to her. You know how it always affects her. Poor thing, she gets that queer look and I know she's trying not to cry. We mustn't make it harder for her."_

_Eugenia kicked the coverlet in impotent rage, trying to think of something bad enough to say._

"_God's nightgown!" she cried at last, and felt somewhat relieved. How could Amelia becontent to stay at home and never have any fun and wear crepe for her brother when she was only eighteen years old? Amelia did not seem to know, or care, that life was riding by with jingling spurs._

"_But she's such a stick," thought Eugenia, pounding the pillow. "And she never was popular like me, so she doesn't miss the things I miss. And-and besides she's got Ashley and I-I haven't got anybody!" And at this fresh woe, she broke into renewed outcries. She remained gloomily in her room until afternoon and then the sight of the returning picnickers with wagons piled high with pine boughs, vines and ferns did not cheer her. Everyone looked happily tired as they waved to her again and she returned their greetings drearily. Life was a hopeless affair and certainly not worth living._

_Deliverance came in the form she least expected when, during the after-dinner-nap period, Mrs. Prettyman and Mrs. Greenwell drove up. Startled at having callers at such an hour, Amelia, Eugenia and Aunt Merripennie roused themselves, hastily hooked their basques, smoothed their hair and descended to the parlor._

"_Mrs. Simmons' children have the measles," said Mrs. Prettyman abruptly, showing plainly that she held Mrs. Simmons personally responsible for permitting such a thing to happen._

"_And the Bennet girls have been called to Virginia," said Mrs. Greenwell in her die-away voice, fanning herself languidly as if neither this nor anything else mattered very much. "Harrison Bennet is wounded."_

"_How dreadful!" chorused their hostesses. "Is poor Harrison-"_

"_No. Just through the shoulder," said Mrs. Prettyman briskly. "But it couldn't possibly have happened at a worse time. The girls are going North to bring him home. But, skies above, we haven't time to sit here talking. We must hurry back to the Armory and get the decorating done. Merri, we need you and Mally tonight to take Mrs. Simmons' and the Bennet girls' places."_

"_Oh, but, Regina, we can't go."_

"_Don't say 'can't' to me, Merripennie Tippett," said Mrs. Prettyman vigorously. "We need you to watch the darkies with the refreshments. That was what Mrs. Bonnell was to do. And Mally, you must take the Bennet girls' booth."_

"_Oh, we just couldn't-with poor Adam dead only a-"_

"_I know how you feel but there isn't any sacrifice too great for the Cause," broke in Mrs. Greenwell in a soft voice that settled matters._

"_Oh, we'd love to help but-why can't you get some sweet pretty girls to take the booths?" Mrs. Prettyman snorted a trumpeting snort._

"_I don't know what's come over the young people these days. They have no sense of responsibility. All the girls who haven't already taken booths have more excuses than you could shake a stick at. Oh, they don't fool me! They just don't want to be hampered in making up to the officers, that's all. And they're afraid their new dresses won't show off behind booth counters. I wish to goodness that blockade runner-what's his name?"_

"_Captain Porter," supplied Mrs. Greenwell._

"_I wish he'd bring in more hospital supplies and less hoop skirts and lace. If I've had to look at one dress today I've had to look at twenty dresses that he ran in. Captain Porter-I'm sick of the name. Now, Merri, I haven't time to argue. You must come. Everybody will understand. Nobody will see you in the back room anyway, and Mally won't be conspicuous. The poor Bennet girls' booth is way down at the end and not very pretty so nobody will notice you."_

"_I think we should go," said Eugenia, trying to curb her eagerness and to keep her face earnest and simple. "It is the least we can do for the hospital."_

_Neither of the visiting ladies had even mentioned her name, and they turned and looked sharply at her. Even in their extremity, they had not considered asking a widow of scarcely a year to appear at a social function. Scarlett bore their gaze with a wide-eyed childlike expression._

"_I think we should go and help to make it a success, all of us. I think I should go in the booth with Mally because-well, I think it would look better for us both to be there instead of just one. Don't you think so, Mally?"_

"_Well," began Mally helplessly. The idea of appearing publicly at a social gathering while in mourning was so unheard of she was bewildered._

"_Eugenia's right," said Mrs. Prettyman, observing signs of weakening. She rose and jerked her hoops into place. "Both of you-all of you must come. Now, Merri, don't start your excuses again. Just think how much the hospital needs money for new beds and drugs. And I know Adam would like you to help the Cause he died for."_

"_Well," said Merripennie, helpless as always in the presence of a stronger personality, "if you think people will understand."_

"_Too good to be true! Too good to be true!" said Eugenia's joyful heart as she slipped unobtrusively into the pink-and-yellow-draped booth that was to have been the Bennet girls'. Actually she was at a party! After a year's seclusion, after crepe and hushed voices and nearly going crazy with boredom, she was actually at a party, the biggest party Atlanta had ever seen. And she could see people and many lights and hear music and view for herself the lovely laces and frocks and frills that the famous "Captain Porter" had run through the blockade on his last trip._

_She sank down on one of the little stools behind the counter of the booth and looked up and down the long hall which, until this afternoon, had been a bare and ugly drill room. How the ladies must have worked today to bring it to its present beauty. It looked lovely. Every candle and candlestick in Atlanta must be in this hall tonight, she thought, silver ones with a dozen sprangling arms, china ones with charming figurines clustering their bases, old brass stands, erect and dignified, laden with candles of all sizes and colors, smelling fragrantly of bayberries, standing on the gun racks that ran the length of the hall, on the long flower-decked tables, on booth counters, even on the sills of the open windows where the draughts of warm summer air were just strong enough to make them flare._

_In the center of the hall the huge ugly lamp, hanging from the ceiling by rusty chains, was completely transformed by twining ivy and wild grapevines that were already withering from the heat. The walls were banked with pine branches that gave out a spicy smell, making the corners of the room into pretty bowers where the chaperons and old ladies would sit. Long graceful ropes of ivy and grapevine and smilax were hung everywhere, in looping festoons on the walls, draped above the windows, twined in scallops all over the brightly colored cheesecloth booths. And everywhere amid the greenery, on flags and bunting, blazed the bright stars of the Confederacy on their background of red and blue._

_The raised platform for the musicians was especially artistic. It was completely hidden from view by the banked greenery and starry bunting and Scarlett knew that every potted and tubbed plant in town was there, coleus, geranium, hydrangea, oleander, elephant ear-even Mrs. Greenwell's four treasured rubber plants, which were given posts of honor at the four corners._

_At the other end of the hall from the platform, the ladies had eclipsed themselves. On this wall hung large pictures of President Davis and Georgia's own "Little Alec" Stephens, Vice-President of the Confederacy. Above them was an enormous flag and, beneath, on long tables was the loot of the gardens of the town, ferns, banks of roses, crimson and yellow and white, proud sheaths of golden gladioli, masses of varicolored nasturtiums, tall stiff hollyhocks rearing deep maroon and creamy heads above the other flowers. Among them, candles burned serenely like altar fires. The two faces looked down on the scene, two faces as different as could be possible in two men at the helm of so momentous an undertaking: Davis with the flat cheeks and cold eyes of an ascetic, his thin proud lips set firmly; Stephens with dark burning eyes deep socketed in a face that had known nothing but sickness and pain and had triumphed over them with humor and with fire-two faces that were greatly loved._

_The elderly ladies of the committee in whose hands rested the responsibility for the whole bazaar rustled in as importantly as full-rigged ships, hurried the belated young matrons and giggling girls into their booths, and then swept through the doors into the back rooms where the refreshments were being laid out. Aunt Merri panted out after musicians clambered upon their platform, black, grinning, their fat cheeks already shining with perspiration, and began tuning their fiddles and sawing and whanging with their bows in anticipatory importance. Old Levi, Mrs. Prettymanr's coachman, who had led the orchestras for every bazaar, ball and wedding since Atlanta was named Marthasville, rapped with his bow for attention. Few except the ladies who were conducting the bazaar had arrived yet, but all eyes turned toward him. Then the fiddles, bull fiddles, accordions, banjos and knuckle-bones broke into a slow rendition of "Lorena"-too slow for dancing, the dancing would come later when the booths were emptied of their wares. Eugenia felt her heart beat faster as the sweet melancholy of the waltz came to her:_

_**"The years creep slowly by, Lorena!**_  
_**The snow is on the grass again.**_  
_**The sun's far down the sky, Lorena . . ."**_

_One-two-three, one-two-three, dip-sway-three, turn-two-three. What a beautiful waltz! She extended her hands slightly, closed her eyes and swayed with the sad haunting was something about the tragic melody and Lorena's lost love that mingled with her own excitement and brought a lump into her throat._

_Then, as if brought into being by the waltz music, sounds floated in from the shadowy moonlit street below, the trample of horses' hooves and the sound of carriage wheels, laughter on the warm sweet air and the soft acrimony of voices raised in argument over hitching places for the horses. There was confusion on the stairs and light-hearted merriment, the mingling of girls' fresh voices with the bass notes of their escorts, airy cries of greeting and squeals of joy as girls recognized friends from whom they had parted only that afternoon._

_Suddenly the hall burst into life. It was full of girls, girls who floated in butterfly bright dresses, hooped out enormously, lace pantalets peeping from beneath; round little white shoulders bare, and faintest traces of soft little bosoms showing above lace flounces; lace shawls carelessly hanging from arms; fans spangled and painted, fans of swan's-down and peacock feathers, dangling at wrists by tiny velvet ribbons; girls with masses of golden curls about their necks and fringed gold earbobs that tossed and danced with their dancing curls. Laces and silks and braid and ribbons, all blockade run, all the more precious and more proudly worn because of it, finery flaunted with an added pride as an extra affront to the Yankees._

_Not all the flowers of the town were standing in tribute to the leaders of the Confederacy. The smallest, the most fragrant blossoms bedecked the girls. Tea roses tucked behind pink ears, cape jessamine and bud roses in round little garlands over cascades of side curls, blossoms thrust demurely into satin sashes, flowers that before the night was over would find their way into the breast pockets of gray uniforms as treasured souvenirs. There were so many uniforms in the crowd-so many uniforms on so many men whom Eugenia knew, men she had met on hospital cots, on the streets, at the drill ground. They were such resplendent uniforms, brave with shining buttons and dazzling with twined gold braid on cuffs and collars, the red and yellow and blue stripes on the trousers, for the different branches of the service, setting off the gray to perfection. Scarlet and gold sashes swung to and fro, sabers glittered and banged against shining boots, spurs rattled and jingled._

_Such handsome men, thought Eugenia, with a swell of pride in her heart, as the men called greetings, waved to friends, bent low over the hands of elderly ladies. All of them were so young looking, even with their sweeping yellow mustaches and full black and brown beards, so handsome, so reckless, with their arms in slings, with head bandages startlingly white across sun-browned faces. Some of them were on crutches and how proud were the girls who solicitously slowed their steps to their escorts' hopping pace! There was one gaudy splash of color among the uniforms that put the girls' bright finery to shame and stood out in the crowd like a tropical bird-a Louisiana Zouave, with baggy blue and white striped pants, cream gaiters and tight little red jacket, a dark, grinning little monkey of a man, with his arm in a black silk sling. He was Amanda Prettyman's especial beau, Jean Lasour. The whole hospital must have turned out, at least everybody who could walk, and all the men on furlough and sick leave and all the railroad and mail service and hospital and commissary departments between here and Macon. How pleased the ladies would be! The hospital should make a mint of money tonight._

_There was a ruffle of drums from the street below, the tramp of feet, the admiring cries of coachmen. A bugle blared and a bass voice shouted the command to break ranks. In a moment, the Home Guard and the militia unit in their bright uniforms shook the narrow stairs and crowded into the room, bowing, saluting, shaking hands. There were boys in the Home Guard, proud to be playing at war, promising themselves they would be in Virginia this time next year, if the war would just last that long; old men with white beards, wishing they were younger, proud to march in uniform in the reflected glory of sons at the front. In the militia, there were many middle-aged men and some older men but there was a fair sprinkling of men of military age who did not carry themselves quite so jauntily as their elders or their juniors. Already people were beginning to whisper, asking why they were not with Lee._

_How would they all get into the hall! It had seemed such a large place a few minutes before, and now it was packed, warm with summer-night odors of sachet and cologne water and hair pomade and burning bayberry candles, fragrant with flowers, faintly dusty as many feet trod the old drill floors. The din and hubbub of voices made it almost impossible to hear anything and, as if feeling the joy and excitement of the occasion, old Levi choked off "Lorena" in mid-bar, rapped sharply with his bow and, sawing away for dear life, the orchestra burst into "Bonnie Blue Flag."_

_A hundred voices took it up, sang it, shouted it like a cheer. The Home Guard bugler,climbing onto the platform, caught up with the music just as the chorus began, and the high_

_silver notes soared out thrillingly above the massed singing, causing goose bumps to break_

_out on bare arms and cold chills of deeply felt emotion to fly down spines:_

_**"Hurrah! Hurrah! For the Southern Rights, hurrah!**_  
_**Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag**_  
_**That bears a single star!"**_

_They crashed into the second verse and Scarlett, singing with the rest, heard the high sweet soprano of Amelia mounting behind her, clear and true and thrilling as the bugle notes. Turning, she saw that Mally was standing with her hands clasped to her breast, her eyes closed, and tiny tears oozing from the corners. She smiled at Eugenia, whimsically, as the music ended, making a little moue of apology as she dabbed with her handkerchief._

"_I'm so happy," she whispered, "and so proud of the soldiers that I just can't help crying about it."_

_There was a deep, almost fanatic glow in her eyes that for a moment lit up her plain little face and made it beautiful._

_The same look was on the faces of all the women as the song ended, tears of pride on cheeks, pink or wrinkled, smiles on lips, a deep hot glow in eyes, as they turned to their men, sweetheart to lover, mother to son, wife to husband. They were all beautiful with the blinding beauty that transfigures even the plainest woman when she is utterly protected and utterly loved and is giving back that love a thousandfold._

_They loved their men, they believed in them, they trusted them to the last breaths of their bodies. How could disaster ever come to women such as they when their stalwart gray line stood between them and the Yankees? Had there ever been such men as these since the first dawn of the world, so heroic, so reckless, so gallant, so tender? How could anything but overwhelming victory come to a Cause as just and right as theirs? A Cause they loved as much as they loved their men, a Cause they served with their hands and their hearts, a Cause they talked about, thought about, dreamed about-a Cause to which they would sacrifice these men if need be, and bear their loss as proudly as the men bore their battle flags. It was high tide of devotion and pride in their hearts, high tide of the Confederacy, for final victory was at hand. Stonewall Jackson's triumphs in the Valley and the defeat of the Yankees in the Seven Days' Battle around Richmond showed that clearly. How could it be otherwise with such leaders as Lee and Jackson? One more victory and the Yankees would be on their knees yelling for peace and the men would be riding home and there would be kissing and laughter. One more victory and the war was over!_

_Of course, there were empty chairs and babies who would never see their fathers' faces and unmarked graves by lonely Virginia creeks and in the still mountains of Tennessee, but was that too great a price to pay for such a Cause? Silks for the ladies and tea and sugar were hard to get, but that was something to joke about. Besides, the dashing blockade runners were bringing in these very things under the Yankees' disgruntled noses, and that made the possession of them many times more thrilling. Soon Raphael Semmes and the Confederate Navy would tend to those Yankee gunboats and the ports would be wide open. And England was coming in to help the Confederacy win the war, because the English mills were standing idle for want of Southern cotton. And naturally the British aristocracy sympathized with the Confederacy, as one aristocrat with another, against a race of dollar lovers like the Yankees._

_So the women swished their silks and laughed and, looking on their men with hearts bursting with pride, they knew that love snatched in the face of danger and death was doubly sweet for the strange excitement that went with it._

_When first she looked at the crowd, Eugenia's heart had thump- thumped with the unaccustomed excitement of being at a party, but as she half-comprehendingly saw the high-hearted look on the faces about her, her joy began to evaporate. Every woman present was blazing with an emotion she did not feel. It bewildered and depressed her. Somehow, the ball did not seem so pretty nor the girls so dashing, and the white heat of devotion to the Cause that was still shining on every face seemed-why, it just seemed silly!_

_In a sudden flash of self-knowledge that made her mouth pop open with astonishment, she realized that she did not share with these women their fierce pride, their desire to sacrifice themselves and everything they had for the Cause. Before horror made her think: "No-no! I mustn't think such things! They're wrong-sinful," she knew the Cause meant nothing at all to her and that she was bored with hearing other people talk about it with that fanatic look in their eyes. The Cause didn't seem sacred to her. The war didn't seem to be a holy affair, but a nuisance that killed men senselessly and cost money and made luxuries hard to get. She saw that she was tired of the endless knitting and the endless bandage rolling and lint picking that roughened the cuticle of her nails. And oh, she was so tired of the hospital! Tired and bored and nauseated with the sickening gangrene smells and the endless moaning, frightened by the look that coming death gave to sunken faces._

_She looked furtively around her, as the treacherous, blasphemous thoughts rushed through her mind, fearful that someone might find them written clearly upon her face. Oh, why couldn't she feel like those other women! They were whole hearted and sincere in their devotion to the Cause. They really meant everything they said and did. And if anyone should ever suspect that she- No, no one must ever know! She must go on making a pretense of enthusiasm and pride in the Cause which she could not feel, acting out her part of the widow of a Confederate officer who bears her grief bravely, whose heart is in the grave, who feels that her husband's death meant nothing if it aided the Cause to triumph._

_Oh, why was she different, apart from these loving women? She could never love anything or anyone so selflessly as they did. What a lonely feeling it was-and she had never beenlonely either in body or spirit before. At first she tried to stifle the thoughts, but the hard self-honesty that lay at the base of her nature would not permit it. _

_And so, while the bazaar went on, while she and Amelia waited on the customers who came to their booth, her mind was busily working, trying to justify herself to herself-a task which she seldom found difficult. The other women were simply silly and hysterical with their talk of patriotism and the Cause, and the men were almost as bad with their talk of vital issues and States' Rights. She, Eugenia Rotchford Tippett, alone had good hard-headed Irish sense. She wasn't going to make a fool out of herself about the Cause, but neither was she going to make a fool out of herself by admitting her true feelings. She was hard-headed enough to be practical about the situation, and no one would ever know how she felt. How surprised the bazaar would be if they knew what she really was thinking! How shocked if she suddenly climbed on the bandstand and declared that she thought the war ought to stop, so everybody could go home and tend to their cotton and there could be parties and beaux again and plenty of pale green dresses. For a moment, her self-justification buoyed her up but still she looked about the hall with distaste. Bennet girls' booth was inconspicuous, as Mrs. Prettyman had said, and there were long intervals when no one came to their corner and Scarlett had nothing to do but look enviously on the happy throng. Amelia sensed her moodiness but, crediting it to longing for Adam, did not try to engage her in conversation. She busied herself arranging the articles in the booth in more attractive display, while Eugenia sat and looked glumly around the room. Even the banked flowers below the pictures of Mr. Davis and Mr. Stephens displeased her._

"_It looks like an altar," she sniffed. "And the way they all carry on about those two, they might as well be the Father and the Son!" Then smitten with sudden fright at her irreverence she began hastily to cross herself by way of apology but caught herself in time._

"_Well, it's true," she argued with her conscience. "Everybody carries on like they were holy and they aren't anything but men, and mighty unattractive looking ones at that." _

_Of course, Mr. Stephens couldn't help how he looked for he had been an invalid all his life, but Mr. Davis- She looked up at the cameo clean, proud face. It was his goatee that annoyed her the most. Men should either be clean shaven, mustached or wear full beards._

"_That little wisp looks like it was just the best he could do," she thought, not seeing in his face the cold hard intelligence that was carrying the weight of a new nation._

_No, she was not happy now, and at first she had been radiant with the pleasure of being in a crowd. Now just being present was not enough. She was at the bazaar but not a part of it. No one paid her any attention and she was the only young unmarried woman present who did not have a beau. And all her life she had enjoyed the center of the stage. It wasn't fair! She was seventeen years old and her feet were patting the floor, wanting to skip and dance. She was seventeen years old and she had a husband lying at Oakland Cemetery and a baby in his cradle at Aunt Merripennie's and everyone thought she should be content with her lot. Shehad a whiter bosom and a smaller waist and a tinier foot than any girl present, but for all they mattered she might just as well be lying beside Adam with "Beloved Wife of" carved over her._

_She wasn't a girl who could dance and flirt and she wasn't a wife who could sit with other wives and criticize the dancing and flirting girls. And she wasn't old enough to be a widow. Widows should be old-so terribly old they didn't want to dance and flirt and be admired. Oh, it wasn't fair that she should have to sit here primly and be the acme of widowed dignity and propriety when she was only seventeen. It wasn't fair that she must keep her voice low and her eyes cast modestly down, when men, attractive ones, too, came to their booth. Every girl in Atlanta was three deep in men. Even the plainest girls were carrying on like belles-and, oh, worst of all, they were carrying on in such lovely, lovely dresses!_

_Here she sat like a crow with hot black taffeta to her wrists and buttoned up to her chin, with not even a hint of lace or braid, not a jewel except Alice's onyx mourning brooch, watching tacky- looking girls hanging on the arms of good-looking men. All because Adam Tippett had had the measles. He didn't even die in a fine glow of gallantry in battle, so she could brag about him._

_Rebelliously she leaned her elbows on the counter and looked at the crowd, flouting Nan's oft-repeated admonition against leaning on elbows and making them ugly and wrinkled. What did it matter if they did get ugly? She'd probably never get a chance to show them again. She looked hungrily at the frocks floating by, butter-yellow watered silks with garlands of rosebuds; pink satins with eighteen flounces edged with tiny black velvet ribbons; baby blue taffeta, ten yards in the skirt and foamy with cascading lace; exposed bosoms; seductive flowers. Amanda Prettyman went toward the next booth on the arm of the Zouave, in an apple- green tarlatan so wide that it reduced her waist to nothingness. It was showered and flounced with cream-colored Chantilly lace that had come from Charleston on the last blockader, and Amanda was flaunting it as saucily as if she and not the famous "Captain Butler" had run the blockade._

"_How sweet I'd look in that dress," thought Eugenia, a savage envy in her heart. "Her waist is as big as a cow's. That green is just my color and it would make my eyes look- Why will girls with that shade of hair try to wear that color? Her skin looks as green as an old cheese. And to think I'll never wear that color again, not even when I do get out of mourning. No, not even if I do manage to get married again. Then I'll have to wear tacky old grays and tans and lilacs."_

_For a brief moment she considered the unfairness of it all. How short was the time for fun, for pretty clothes, for dancing, for coquetting! Only a few, too few years! Then you married and wore dull-colored dresses and had babies that ruined your waist line and sat in corners at dances with other sober matrons and only emerged to dance with your husband or with old gentlemen who stepped on your feet. If you didn't do these things, the other matrons talked about you and then your reputation was ruined and your family disgraced. It seemed such a terrible waste to spend all your little girlhood learning how to be attractive and how to catchmen and then only use the knowledge for a year or two. When she considered her training at the hands of Alice and Nan, she knew it had been thorough and good because it had always reaped results. There were set rules to be followed, and if you followed them success crowned your efforts._

_With old ladies you were sweet and guileless and appeared as simple minded as possible, for old ladies were sharp and they watched girls as jealously as cats, ready to pounce on any indiscretion of tongue or eye. With old gentlemen, a girl was pert and saucy and almost, but not quite, flirtatious, so that the old fools' vanities would be tickled. It made them feel devilish and young and they pinched your cheek and declared you were a minx. And, of course, you always blushed on such occasions, otherwise they would pinch you with more pleasure than was proper and then tell their sons that you were fast._

_With young girls and young married women, you slopped over with sugar and kissed them every time you met them, even if it was ten times a day. And you put your arms about their waists and suffered them to do the same to you, no matter how much you disliked it. You admired their frocks or their babies indiscriminately and teased about beaux and complimented husbands and giggled modestly and denied that you had any charms at all compared with theirs. And, above all, you never said what you really thought about anything, any more than they said what they really thought._

_Other women's husbands you let severely alone, even if they were your own discarded beaux, and no matter how temptingly attractive they were. If you were too nice to young husbands, their wives said you were fast and you got a bad reputation and never caught any beaux of your own._

_But with young bachelors-ah, that was a different matter! You could laugh softly at them and when they came flying to see why you laughed, you could refuse to tell them and laugh harder and keep them around indefinitely trying to find out. You could promise, with your eyes, any number of exciting things that would make a man maneuver to get you alone. And, having gotten you alone, you could be very, very hurt or very, very angry when he tried to kiss you. You could make him apologize for being a cur and forgive him so sweetly that he would hang around trying to kiss you a second time. Sometimes, but not often, you did let him kiss you. (Alice and had not taught her that but she learned it was effective.)_

_Then you cried and declared you didn't know what had come over you and that he couldn't ever respect you again. Then he had to dry your eyes and usually he proposed, to show just how much he did respect you. And then there were- Oh, there were so many things to do to bachelors and she knew them all, the nuance of the sidelong glance, the half-smile behind the fan, the swaying of the hips so that skirts swung like a bell, the tears, the laughter, the flattery, the sweet sympathy. Oh, all the tricks that never failed to work-except with Daniel._

_No, it didn't seem right to learn all these smart tricks, use them so briefly and then put them away forever. How wonderful it would be never to marry but to go on being lovely in pale green dresses and forever courted by handsome men. But, if you went on too long, you got to be an old maid like Lucy Montgomery and everyone said "poor thing" in that smug hateful way. No, after all it was better to marry and keep your self-respect even if you never had any more fun._

_Oh, what a mess life was! Why had she been such an idiot as to marry Adam of all people and have her life end at sixteen?_

_Her indignant and hopeless reverie was broken when the crowd began pushing back against the walls, the ladies carefully holding their hoops so that no careless contact should turn them up against their bodies and show more pantalets than was proper. Scarlett tiptoed above the crowd and saw the captain of the militia mounting the orchestra platform. He shouted orders and half of the Company fell into line. For a few minutes they went through a brisk drill that brought perspiration to their foreheads and cheers and applause from the audience. Eugenia clapped her hands dutifully with the rest and, as the soldiers pushed forward toward the punch and lemonade booths after they were dismissed, she turned to Amelia, feeling that she had better begin her deception about the Cause as soon as possible._

"_They looked fine, didn't they?" she said._

_Amelia was fussing about with the knitted things on the counter._

"_Most of them would look a lot finer in gray uniforms and in Virginia," she said, and she did not trouble to lower her voice._

_Several of the proud mothers of members of the militia were standing close by and overheard the remark. Mrs. Ford turned scarlet and then white, for her twenty-five-year-old Willie was in the company._

_Eugenia was aghast at such words coming from Mally of all people._

"_Why, Mally!"_

"_You know it's true, Eugenia. I don't mean the little boys and the old gentlemen. But a lot of the militia are perfectly able to tote a rifle and that's what they ought to be doing this minute."_

"_But-but-" began Eugenia, who had never considered the matter before. "Somebody's got to_

_stay home to-" What was it Rufus Ford had told her by way of excusing his presence in Atlanta? "Somebody's got to stay home to protect the state from invasion."_

"_Nobody's invading us and nobody's going to," said Mally coolly, looking toward a group of the militia. "And the best way to keep out invaders is to go to Virginia and beat the Yankees there. And as for all this talk about the militia staying here to keep the darkies from rising- why, it's the silliest thing I ever heard of. Why should our people rise? It's just a good excuse for cowards. I'll bet we could lick the Yankees in a month if all the militia of all the states went to Virginia. So there!"_

"_Why, Mally!" cried Eugenia again, staring._

_Mally's soft dark eyes were flashing angrily. "My husband wasn't afraid to go and neither was yours. And I'd rather they'd both be dead than here at home- Oh, darling, I'm sorry. How thoughtless and cruel of me!"_

_She stroked Eugenia's arm appealingly and Scarlett stared at her. But it was not of dead Adam she was thinking. It was of Daniel. Suppose he too were to die? She turned quickly and smiled automatically as Dr. Leadham walked up to their booth._

"_Well, girls," he greeted them, "it was nice of you to come. I know what a sacrifice it must have been for you to come out tonight. But it's all for the Cause. And I'm going to tell you a secret. I've a surprise way for making some more money tonight for the hospital, but I'm afraid some of the ladies are going to be shocked about it."_

_He stopped and chuckled as he tugged at his gray goatee._

"_Oh, what? Do tell!"_

"_On second thought I believe I'll keep you guessing, too. But you girls must stand up for me if the church members want to run me out of town for doing it. However, it's for the hospital. You'll see. Nothing like this has ever been done before."_

_He went off pompously toward a group of chaperons in one corner, and just as the two girls had turned to each other to discuss the possibilities of the secret, two old gentlemen bore down on the booth, declaring in loud voices that they wanted ten miles of tatting. Well, after all, old gentlemen were better than no gentlemen at all, thought Eugenia, measuring out the tatting and submitting demurely to being chucked under the chin. The old blades charged off toward the lemonade booth and others took their places at the counter. Their booth did not have so many customers as did the other booths where the tootling laugh of Amanda Prettyman sounded and Fanny Elsing's giggles and the Whiting girls' repartee made merriment. Mally sold useless stuff to men who could have no possible use for it as quietly and serenely as a shopkeeper, and Eugenia patterned her conduct on Mally's._

_There were crowds in front of every other counter but theirs, girls chattering, men buying. The few who came to them talked about how they went to the university with Daniel and what a fine soldier he was or spoke in respectful tones of Adam and how great a loss to Atlanta his death had been._

_Then the music broke into the rollicking strains of "Johnny Booker, he'p dis Nigger!" and Eugenia thought she would scream. She wanted to dance. She wanted to dance. She looked across the floor and tapped her foot to the music and her green eyes blazed so eagerly that they fairly snapped. All the way across the floor, a man, newly come and standing in the doorway, saw them, started in recognition and watched closely the slanting eyes in the sulky, rebellious face. Then he grinned to himself as he recognized the invitation that any male could read._

_He was dressed in black broadcloth, a tall man, towering over the officers who stood near him. His severe black suit, with fine ruffled shirt and trousers smartly strapped beneath high insteps, was oddly at variance with his physique and face, the clothes of a dandy on a body that was powerful and latently dangerous in its lazy grace. His hair was jet looked, and was, a man of lusty and unashamed appetites. He had an air of utter assurance, of displeasing insolence about him, and there was a twinkle of malice in his bold eyes as he stared at Scarlett, until finally, feeling his gaze, she looked toward him. Somewhere in her mind, the bell of recognition rang, but for the moment she could not recall who he was. But he was the first man in months who had displayed an interest in her, and she threw him a gay smile. She made a little curtsy as he bowed, and then, as he straightened and started toward her with a peculiarly lithe Indian-like gait, her hand went to her mouth in horror, for she knew who he was. _

_Thunderstruck, she stood as if paralyzed while he made his way through the crowd. Then she turned blindly, bent on flight into the refreshment rooms, but her skirt caught on a nail of the booth. She jerked furiously at it, tearing it and, in an instant, he was beside her._

"_Permit me," he said bending over and disentangling the flounce. "I hardly hoped that you would recall me, Miss Rotchford."_

_His voice was oddly pleasant to the ear, the well-modulated voice of a gentleman, resonant and overlaid with the drawl of an Englishman. She looked up at him imploringly, her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting, and met two of the greenest eyes she had ever seen, dancing in merciless merriment. Of all the people in the world to turn up here, this terrible person who had witnessed that scene with Daniel which still gave her nightmares; this odious wretch who ruined girls and was not received by nice people; this despicable man who had said, and with good cause, that she was not a lady._

_At the sound of his voice, Amelia turned and for the first time in her life Eugenia thanked God for the existence of her sister- in-law._

"_Why-it's-it's Mr. Lucas Porter, isn't it?" said Amelia with a little smile, putting out her hand. "I met you-"_

"_On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal," he finished, bending over her hand. "It is kind of you to recall me."_

"_And what are you doing so far from London, Mr. Porter? Are you still with your aunt, Mrs. Woodbridge"_

"_A boring matter of business, Mrs. Montgomery. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I find I must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them."_

"_Bring in-" began Mally, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile._

"_Why, you-you must be the famous Captain Porter we've been hearing so much about-the blockade runner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Eugenia, aren't you thrilled-what's the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down."_

_Eugenia sank to the stool, her breath coming so rapidly she feared the lacings of her stays would burst. Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! She had never thought to meet this man again. He picked up her black fan from the counter and began fanning her solicitously, too solicitously, his face grave but his eyes still dancing._

"_It is quite warm in here," he said. "No wonder Miss Rotchford is faint. May I lead you to a window?"_

"_No," said Eugenia, so rudely that Mally stared._

"_She is not Rotchford any longer," said Mally. "She is Mrs. Tippett. She is my sister now," and Melly bestowed one of her fond little glances on her. Eugenia felt that she would strangle at the expression on Loki's swarthy piratical face._

"_I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies," said he, making a slight bow. That was the kind of remark all men made, but when he said it it seemed to her that he meant just the opposite._

"_Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renew acquaintances."_

"_My husband is in Virginia," said Mally with a proud lift of her head. "But Adam-" Her voice broke._

"_He died in camp," said Eugenia flatly. She almost snapped the words. Would this creature never go away? Mally looked at her, startled, and Loki made a gesture of self-reproach._

"_My dear ladies-how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfort of saying that to die for one's country is to live forever."_

_Amelia smiled at him through sparkling tears while Eugenia felt the fox of wrath and impotent hate gnaw at her vitals. Again he had made a graceful remark, the kind of compliment any gentleman would pay under such circumstances, but he did not mean aword of it. He was jeering at her. He knew she hadn't loved Charles. And Mally was just a big enough fool not to see through him. Oh, please God, don't let anybody else see through him, she thought with a start of terror. Would he tell what he knew? Of course he wasn't a gentleman and there was no telling what men would do when they weren't gentlemen. There was no standard to judge them by. She looked up at him and saw that his mouth was pulled down at the corners in mock sympathy, even while he swished the fan. Something in his look challenged her spirit and brought her strength back in a surge of dislike. Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand._

"_I'm quite all right," she said tartly. "There's no need to blow my hair out of place."_

"_Eugenia, darling! Captain Porter, you must forgive her. She- she isn't herself when she hears poor Adam's name spoken-and perhaps, after all, we shouldn't have come here tonight. We're still in mourning, you see, and it's quite a strain on her-all this gaiety and music, poor child."_

"_I quite understand," he said with elaborate gravity, but as he turned and gave Amelia a searching look that went to the bottom of her sweet worried eyes, his expression changed, reluctant respect and gentleness coming over his dark face. "I think you're a courageous little lady, Mrs. Montgomery."_

"_Not a word about me!" thought Amelia indignantly, as Mally smiled in confusion and answered,_

"_Dear me, no, Captain Porter! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth because at the last minute- A pillow case? Here's a lovely one with a flag on it."_

_She turned to three cavalrymen who appeared at her counter. For a moment, Amelia thought how nice Loki was. Then she wished that something more substantial than cheesecloth was between her skirt and the spittoon that stood just outside the booth, for the aim of the horsemen with amber streams of tobacco juice was not so unerring as with their long horse pistols. Then she forgot about the Captain, Eugenia and the spittoons as more customers crowded to her._

_Eugenia sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up, wishing Captain Butler back on the deck of his ship where he belonged._

"_Your husband has been dead long?"_

"_Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year."_

"_An aeon, I'm sure."_

_Eugenia was not sure what an aeon was, but there was no mistaking the baiting quality of his voice, so she said nothing._

"_Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section for so long."_

"_Two months," said Eugenia, unwillingly._

"_A tragedy, no less," his easy voice continued._

_Oh, damn him, she thought violently. If he was any other man in the world I could simply freeze up and order him off. But he knows about Daniel and he knows I didn't love Daniel. And my hands are tied. She said nothing, still looking down at her fan._

"_And this is your first social appearance?"_

"_I know it looks quite odd," she explained rapidly. "But the Bennet girls who were to take this booth were called away and there was no one else, so Amelia and I-"_

"_No sacrifice is too great for the Cause."_

_Why, that was what Mrs. Greenwell had said, but when she said it it didn't sound the same way. Hot words started to her lips but she choked them back. After all, she was here, not for the Cause, but because she was tired of sitting home._

"_I have always thought," he said reflectively, "that the system of mourning, of immuring women in crepe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment is just as barbarous as the Hindu suttee."_

"_Suttee?"_

_He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She hated people who used words unknown to her._

"_In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on the funeral pyre and is burned with him."_

"_How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don't the police do anything about it?"_

"_Of course not. A wife who didn't burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy Hindu matrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should-precisely as those worthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress and lead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom of burying widows alive!"_

"_How dare you say I'm buried alive!"_

"_How closely women crutch the very chains that bind them! You think the Hindu custom barbarous-but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn't needed you?"_

_Arguments of this character were always confusing to Eugenia. His were doubly confusing because she had a vague idea there was truth in them. But now was the time to squelch him._

"_Of course, I wouldn't have come. It would have been-well, disrespectful to-it would have seemed as if I hadn't lov-"_

_His eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and she could not go on. He knew she hadn't loved Adam and he wouldn't let her pretend to the nice polite sentiments that she should express. What a terrible, terrible thing it was to have to do with a man who wasn't a gentleman. A gentleman always appeared to believe a lady even when he knew she was lying. That was Southern chivalry. A gentleman always obeyed the rules and said the correct things and made life easier for a lady. But this man seemed not to care for rules and evidently enjoyed talking of things no one ever talked about._

"_I am waiting breathlessly."_

"_I think you are horrid," she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes._

_He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed, in a very creditable imitation of the stage villains who appeared infrequently at the Athenaeum Hall:_

"_Fear not, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!"_

"_Oh," she whispered, feverishly, "how can you say such things!"_

"_I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? 'Be mine, beautiful female, or I will reveal all?'"_

_She met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy's. Suddenly she laughed. It was such a silly situation, after all. He laughed too, and so loudly that several of the chaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Adam Tippett's widow appeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly._

_..._

_There was a roll of drums and many voices cried "Sh!" as Dr. Leadham mounted the platform and spread out his arms for quiet._

"_We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable and patriotic efforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary success," he began, "but have transformed this rough hall into a bower of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see aboutme."_

_Everyone clapped approvingly._

"_The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor of their hands, and these beautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of our charming Southern women."_

_There were more shouts of approval, and Loki who had been lounging negligently against the counter at Scarlett's side whispered: "Pompous goat, isn't he?"_

_Startled, at first horrified, at this lese majesty toward Atlanta's most beloved citizen, she stared reprovingly at him. But the doctor did look like a goat with his gray chin whiskers wagging away at a great rate, and with difficulty she stifled a giggle._

"_But these things are not enough. The good ladies of the hospital committee, whose cool hands have soothed many a suffering brow and brought back from the jaws of death our brave men wounded in the bravest of all Causes, know our needs. I will not enumerate them. We must have more money to buy medical supplies from England, and we have with us tonight the intrepid captain who has so successfully run the blockade for a year and who will run it again to bring us the drugs we need. Captain Lucas!"_

_Though caught unawares, the blockader made a graceful bow-too graceful, thought Scarlett, trying to analyze it. It was almost as if he overdid his courtesy because his contempt for everybody present was so great. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks from the ladies in the corner. So that was who poor Adam Tippett's widow was carrying on with! And Adam hardly dead a year!_

"_We need more gold and I am asking you for it," the doctor continued. "I am asking a sacrifice but a sacrifice so small compared with the sacrifices our gallant men in gray are making that it will seem laughably small. Ladies, I want your jewelry. I want your jewelry? No, the Confederacy wants your jewelry, the Confederacy calls for it and I know no one will hold back. How fair a gem gleams on a lovely wrist! How beautifully gold brooches glitter on the bosoms of our patriotic women! But how much more beautiful is sacrifice than all the gold and gems of the Ind. The gold will be melted and the stones sold and the money used to buy drugs and other medical supplies. Ladies, there will pass among you two of our gallant wounded, with baskets and-" But the rest of his speech was lost in the storm and tumult of clapping hands and cheering voices._

_Eugenia's first thought was one of deep thankfulness that mourning forbade her wearing her precious earbobs and the heavy gold chain that had been Grandma Duchard's and the gold and black enameled bracelets and the garnet brooch. She saw the little Zouave, a split-oak basket over his unwounded arm, making the rounds of the crowd on her side of the hall and saw women, old and young, laughing, eager, tugging at bracelets, squealing in pretended pain as earrings came from pierced flesh, helping each other undo stiff necklace clasps,unpinning brooches from bosoms. There was a steady little clink-clink of metal on metal and cries of "Wait-wait! I've got it unfastened now. There!" Amanda Prettyman was pulling off her lovely twin bracelets from above and below her elbows. Wilma Greenwell, crying "Mamma, may I?" was tearing from her curls the seed-pearl ornament set in heavy gold which had been in the family for generations. As each offering went into the basket, there was applause and cheering._

_The grinning little man was coming to their booth now, his basket heavy on his arm, and as he passed Loki a handsome gold cigar case was thrown carelessly into the basket. When he came to Eugenia and rested his basket upon the counter, she shook her head throwing wide her hands to show that she had nothing to give. It was embarrassing to be the only person present who was giving nothing. And then she saw the bright gleam of her wide gold wedding ring._

_For a confused moment she tried to remember Adam's face-how he had looked when he slipped it on her finger. But the memory was blurred, blurred by the sudden feeling of irritation that memory of him always brought to her. Adam-he was the reason why life was over for her, why she was an old woman._

_With a sudden wrench she seized the ring but it stuck. The Zouave was moving toward Amelia._

"_Wait!" cried Eugenia. "I have something for you!" The ring came off and, as she started to throw it into the basket, heaped up with chains, watches, rings, pins and bracelets, she caught Loki's eye. His lips were twisted in a slight smile. Defiantly, she tossed the ring onto the top of the pile._

"_Oh, my darling!" whispered Mally, clutching her arm, her eyes blazing with love and pride. "You brave, brave girl! Wait- please, wait, Lieutenant Lasour! I have something for you, too!"_

_She was tugging at her own wedding ring, the ring Eugenia knew had never once left that finger since Daniel put it there. Eugenia knew, as no one did, how much it meant to her. It came off with difficulty and for a brief instant was clutched tightly in the small palm. Then it was laid gently on the pile of jewelry. The two girls stood looking after the Zouave who was moving toward the group of elderly ladies in the corner, Eugenia defiant, Amelia with a look more pitiful than tears. And neither expression was lost on the man who stood beside them._

"_If you hadn't been brave enough to do it, I would never have been either," said Mally, putting her arm about Eugenia's waist and giving her a gentle squeeze. For a moment Eugenia wanted to shake her off and cry "Name of God!" at the top of her lungs, as Thomas did when he was irritated, but she caught Loki's eye and managed a very sour smile. It was annoying the way Mally always misconstrued her motives-but perhaps that was far preferable to having her suspect the truth._

"_What a beautiful gesture," said Loki, softly. "It is such sacrifices as yours that hearten our brave lads in gray."_

_Hot words bubbled to her lips and it was with difficulty that she checked them. There was mockery in everything he said. She disliked him heartily, lounging there against the booth. But there was something stimulating about him, something warm and vital and electric. All that was Irish in her rose to the challenge of his green eyes. She decided she was going to take this man down a notch or two. His knowledge of her secret gave him an advantage over her that was exasperating, so she would have to change that by putting him at a disadvantage somehow. She stifled her impulse to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Sugar always caught more flies than vinegar, as Nan often said, and she was going to catch and subdue this fly, so he could never again have her at his mercy._

"_Thank you," she said sweetly, deliberately misunderstanding his jibe. "A compliment like that coming from so famous a man as Captain Porter is appreciated."_

_He threw back his head and laughed freely-yelped, was what Eugenia thought fiercely, her face becoming pink again._

"_Why don't you say what you really think?" he demanded, lowering his voice so that in the clatter and excitement of the collection, it came only to her ears. "Why don't you say I'm a damned rascal and no gentleman and that I must take myself off or you'll have one of these gallant boys in gray call me out?"_

_It was on the tip of her tongue to answer tartly, but she managed by heroic control to say: "Why, Captain Porter! How you do run on! As if everybody didn't know how famous you are and how brave and what a-what a-_

"_I am disappointed in you," he said._

"_Disappointed?"_

"_Yes. On the occasion of our first eventful meeting I thought to myself that I had at last met a girl who was not only beautiful but who had courage. And now I see that you are only beautiful."_

"_Do you mean to call me a coward?" She was ruffling like a hen._

"_Exactly. You lack the courage to say what you really think. When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn't like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss Rotchford is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn't mind speaking her mind-or throwing vases."_

"_Oh," she said, rage breaking through. "Then I'll speak my mind right this minute. If you'd had any raising at all you'd never have come over here and talked to me. You'd have known I never wanted to lay eyes on you again! But you aren't a gentleman! You are just a nasty ill-bred creature! And you think that because your rotten little boats can outrun the Yankees, you've the right to come here and jeer at men who are brave and women who are sacrificing everything for the Cause-"_

"_Stop, stop-" he begged with a grin. "You started off very nicely and said what you thought, but don't begin talking to me about the Cause. I'm tired of hearing about it and I'll bet you are, too-"_

"_Why, how did-" she began, caught off her balance, and then checked herself hastily, boiling with anger at herself for falling into his trap._

"_I stood there in the doorway before you saw me and I watched you," he said. "And I watched the other girls. And they all looked as though their faces came out of one mold. Yours didn't. You have an easy face to read. You didn't have your mind on your business and I'll wager you weren't thinking about our Cause or the hospital. It was all over your face that you wanted to dance and have a good time and you couldn't. So you were mad clean through. Tell the truth. Am I not right?"_

"_I have nothing more to say to you, Captain Porter," she said as formally as she could, trying to draw the rags of her dignity about her. "Just because you're conceited at being the 'great blockader' doesn't give you the right to insult women."_

"_The great blockader! That's a joke. Pray give me only one moment more of your precious time before you cast me into darkness. I wouldn't want so charming a little patriot to be left under a misapprehension about my contribution to the Confederate Cause."_

"_I don't care to listen to your brags."_

"_Blockading is a business with me and I'm making money out of it. When I stop making money out of it, I'll quit. What do you think of that?"_

"_I think you're a mercenary rascal-just like the Yankees."_

"_Exactly," he grinned. "And the Yankees help me make my money. Why, last month I sailed my boat right into New York harbor and took on a cargo."_

"_What!" cried Eugenia, interested and excited in spite of herself. "Didn't they shell you?"_

"_My poor innocent! Of course not. There are plenty of sturdy Union patriots who are not averse to picking up money selling goods to the Confederacy. I run my boat into New York, buy from Yankee firms, sub rosa, of course, and away I go. And when that gets a bit dangerous, I go to Nassau where these same Union patriots have brought powder and shellsand hoop skirts for me. It's more convenient than going to England. Sometimes it's a bit difficult running it into Charleston or Wilmington-but you'd be surprised how far a little gold goes."_

"_Oh, I knew Yankees were vile but I didn't know-"_

"_Why quibble about the Yankees earning an honest penny selling out the Union? It won't matter in a hundred years. The result will be the same. They know the Confederacy will be licked eventually, so why shouldn't they cash in on it?"_

"_Licked-us?"_

"_Of course."_

"_Will you please leave me-or will it be necessary for me to call my carriage and go home to get rid of you?"_

"_A red-hot little Rebel," he said, with another sudden grin. He bowed and sauntered off, leaving her with her bosom heaving with impotent rage and indignation. There was disappointment burning in her that she could not quite analyze, the disappointment of a child seeing illusions crumble. How dared he take the glamor from the blockaders! And how dared he say the Confederacy would be licked! He should be shot for that-shot like a traitor. She looked about the hall at the familiar faces, so assured of success, so brave, so devoted, and somehow a cold little chill set in at her heart. Licked? These people-why, of course not! The very idea was impossible._

"_What were you two whispering about?" asked Amelia, turning to Eugenia as her customers drifted off. "I couldn't help seeing that Mrs. Prettyman had her eye on you all the time and, dear, you know how she talks."_

"_Oh, the man's impossible-an ill-bred boor," said Eugenia. "And as for old lady Prettyman, let her talk. I'm sick of acting like a ninny, just for her benefit."_

"_Why, Eugenia!" cried Amelia, scandalized._

"_Sh-sh," said Eugenia. "Dr. Leadham is going to make another announcement."_

_The gathering quieted again as the doctor raised his voice, at first in thanks to the ladies who had so willingly given their jewelry._

"_And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to propose a surprise- an innovation that may shock some of you, but I ask you to remember that all this is done for the hospital and for the benefit of our boys lying there."_

_Everyone edged forward, in anticipation, trying to imagine what the sedate doctor could propose that would be shocking._

"_The dancing is about to begin and the first number will, of course, be a reel, followed by a waltz. The dances following, the polkas, the schottisches, the mazurkas, will be preceded by short reels. I know the gentle rivalry to lead the reels very well and so-" The doctor mopped his brow and cast a quizzical glance at the corner, where his wife sat among the chaperons._

"_Gentlemen, if you wish to lead a reel with the lady of your choice, you must bargain for her. I will be auctioneer and the proceeds will go to the hospital."_

_Fans stopped in mid-swish and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the hall. The chaperons' corner was in tumult and Mrs. Leadham, anxious to support her husband in an_

_action of which she heartily disapproved, was at a disadvantage. Mrs. Greenwell, Mrs. Prettyman and Mrs. Jinkerson were red with indignation. But suddenly the Home Guard gave a cheer and it was taken up by the other uniformed guests. The young girls clapped their hands and jumped excitedly._

"_Don't you think it's-it's just-just a little like a slave auction?" whispered Amelia, staring uncertainly at the embattled doctor who heretofore had been perfect in her eyes._

_Eugenia said nothing but her eyes glittered and her heart contracted with a little pain. If only she were not a widow. If only she were Eugenia Rotchford again, out there on the floor in an apple-green dress with dark-green velvet ribbons dangling from her bosom and tuberoses in her black hair-she'd lead that reel. Yes, indeed! There'd be a dozen men battling for her and paying over money to the doctor. Oh, to have to sit here, a wallflower against her will and see Wilma or Amanda lead the first reel as the belle of Atlanta!_

_Above the tumult sounded the voice of the little Zouave, his Creole accent very obvious: "Eef I may-twenty dollars for Mees Amanda Prettyman."_

_Amanda collapsed with blushes against Wilma's shoulder and the two girls hid their faces in each other's necks and giggled, as other voices began calling other names, other amounts of money. Dr. Leadham had begun to smile again, ignoring completely the indignant whispers that came from the Ladies' Hospital Committee in the corner._

_At first, Mrs. Prettyman had stated flatly and loudly that her Amanda would never take part in such a proceeding; but as Amanda's name was called most often and the amount went up to seventy-five dollars, her protests began to dwindle. Eugenia leaned her elbows on the counter and almost glared at the excited laughing crowd surging about the platform, their hands full of Confederate paper money._

_Now, they would all dance-except her and the old ladies. Now everyone would have a good time, except her. She saw Loki standing just below the doctor and, before she could change the expression of her face, he saw her and one corner of his mouth went down and one eyebrow went up. She jerked her chin up and turned away from him and suddenly she heard her own name called- called in an unmistakable English voice that rang out abovethe hubbub of other names._

"_Mrs. Adam Tippett-one hundred and fifty dollars-in gold."_

_A sudden hush fell on the crowd both at the mention of the sum and at the name. Eugenia was so startled she could not even move. She remained sitting with her chin in her hands, her eyes wide with astonishment. Everybody turned to look at her. She saw the doctor lean down from the platform and whisper something to Loki. Probably telling him she was in mourning and it was impossible for her to appear on the floor. She saw Loki's shoulders shrug lazily._

"_Another one of our belles, perhaps?" questioned the doctor._

"_No," said Loki clearly, his eyes sweeping the crowd carelessly. "Mrs. Tippett."_

"_I tell you it is impossible," said the doctor testily. "Mrs. Tippett will not-"_

_Eugenia heard a voice which, at first, she did not recognize as her own._

"_Yes, I will!"_

_She leaped to her feet, her heart hammering so wildly she feared she could not stand, hammering with the thrill of being the center of attention again, of being the most highly desired girl present and oh, best of all, at the prospect of dancing again._

"_Oh, I don't care! I don't care what they say!" she whispered, as a sweet madness swept over her. She tossed her head and sped out of the booth, tapping her heels like castanets, snapping open her black silk fan to its widest._

_For a fleeting instant she saw Amelia's incredulous face, the look on the chaperons' faces, the petulant girls, the enthusiastic approval of the soldiers._

_Then she was on the floor and Rhett Butler was advancing toward her through the aisle of the crowd, that nasty mocking smile on his face. But she didn't care-didn't care if he were Abe Lincoln himself! She was going to dance again. She was going to lead the reel. She swept him a low curtsy and a dazzling smile and he bowed, one hand on his frilled bosom. Levi, horrified, was quick to cover the situation and bawled: "Choose yo' padners fo' de Ferginny reel!"_

_And the orchestra crashed into that best of all reel tunes, "Dixie."_

_..._

"_How dare you make me so conspicuous, Captain Porter?"_

"_But, my dear Mrs. Tippett, you so obviously wanted to be conspicuous!"_

"_How could you call my name out in front of everybody?"_

"_You could have refused."_

"_But-I owe it to the Cause-I-I couldn't think of myself when you were offering so much in gold. Stop laughing, everyone is looking at us."_

"_They will look at us anyway. Don't try to palm off that twaddle about the Cause to me. You wanted to dance and I gave you the opportunity. This march is the last figure of the reel, isn't it?"_

"_Yes-really, I must stop and sit down now."_

"_Why? Have I stepped on your feet?"_

"_No-but they'll talk about me."_

"_Do you really care-down in your heart?"_

"_Well-"_

"_You aren't committing any crime, are you? Why not dance the waltz with me?"_

"_But if Ma ever-"_

"_Still tied to Mother's apronstrings."_

"_Oh, you have the nastiest way of making virtues sound so stupid."_

"_But virtues are stupid. Do you care if people talk?"_

"_No-but-well, let's don't talk about it. Thank goodness the waltz is beginning. Reels always leave me breathless."_

"_Don't dodge my questions. Has what other women said ever mattered to you?"_

"_Oh, if you're going to pin me down-no! But a girl is supposed to mind. Tonight, though, I don't care."_

"_Bravo! Now you are beginning to think for yourself instead of letting others think for you. That's the beginning of wisdom."_

"_Oh, but-"_

"_When you've been talked about as much as I have, you'll realize how little it matters. No one in Asgard would recieve me."_

_"How dreadful!"_

"_Oh, not at all. Until you've lost your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is."_

"_You do talk scandalous!"_

"_Scandalously and truly. Always providing you have enough courage-or money-you can do without a reputation."_

"_Money can't buy everything."_

"_Someone must have told you that. You'd never think of such a platitude all by yourself. What can't it buy?"_

"_Oh, well, I don't know-not happiness or love, anyway."_

"_Generally it can. And when it can't, it can buy some of the most remarkable substitutes."_

"_And have you so much money, Captain Butler?"_

"_What an ill-bred question, Mrs. Tippett. I'm surprised. But, yes. For a young man cut off without a shilling in early youth, I've done very well. And I'm sure I'll clean up a million on the blockade."_

"_Oh, no!"_

"_Oh, yes! What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one."_

"_And what does all that mean?"_

"_Your family and my family and everyone here tonight made their money out of changing a wilderness into a civilization. That's empire building. There's good money in empire building. But, there's more in empire wrecking."_

"_What empire are you talking about?"_

"_This empire we're living in-the South-the Confederacy-the Cotton Kingdom-it's breaking up right under our feet. Only most fools won't see it and take advantage of the situation created by the collapse. I'm making my fortune out of the wreckage."_

"_Then you really think we're going to get licked?"_

"_Yes. Why be an ostrich?"_

"_Oh, dear, it bores me to talk about such like. Don't you ever say pretty things, Captain Porter?"_

"_Would it please you if I said your eyes were twin goldfish bowls filled to the brim with the clearest green water and that when the fish swim to the top, as they are doing now, you are devilishly charming?"_

"_Oh, I don't like that. . . . Isn't the music gorgeous? Oh, I could waltz forever! I didn't know I had missed it so!"_

"_You are the most beautiful dancer I've ever held in my arms."_

"_Captain Porter, you must not hold me so tightly. Everybody is looking."_

"_If no one were looking, would you care?"_

"_Captain Porter, you forget yourself."_

"_Not for a minute. How could I, with you in my arms? . . . What is that tune? Isn't it new?"_

"_Yes. Isn't it divine? It's something we captured from the Yankees."_

"_What's the name of it?"_

"'_When This Cruel War Is Over.'"_

"_What are the words? Sing them to me."_

_"__**Dearest one, do you remember**_  
_** When we last did meet?**_  
_**When you told me how you loved me,**_  
_**Kneeling at my feet?**_  
_**Oh, how proud you stood before me**_  
_**In your suit of gray,**_  
_**When you vowed from me and country**_  
_**Ne'er to go astray.**_  
_**Weeping sad and lonely,**_  
_**Sighs and tears how vain!When this cruel war is over**_  
_**Pray that we meet again!**__"_

"_Of course, it was 'suit of blue' but we changed it to 'gray.' . . . Oh, you waltz so well, Captain Porter. Most big men don't, you know. And to think it will be years and years before I'll dance again."_

"_It will only be a few minutes. I'm going to bid you in for the next reel-and the next and the next."_

"_Oh, no, I couldn't! You mustn't! My reputation will be ruined."_

"_It's in shreds already, so what does another dance matter? Maybe I'll give the other boys a chance after I've had five or six, but I must have the last one."_

"_Oh, all right. I know I'm crazy but I don't care. I don't care a bit what anybody says. I'm so tired of sitting at home. I'm going to dance and dance-"_

"_And not wear black? I loathe funeral crepe."_

"_Oh, I couldn't take off mourning-Captain Porter, you must not hold me so tightly. I'll be mad at you if you do."_

"_And you look gorgeous when you are mad. I'll squeeze you again- there-just to see if you will really get mad. You have no idea how charming you were that day at Oakfield when you were mad and throwing things."_

"_Oh, please-won't you forget that?"_

"_No, it is one of my most priceless memories-a delicately nurtured Southern belle with her Irish up- You are very Irish, you know."_

_"Where did you learn our earthly dances?" Eugenia asked curiously._

_"Mrs. Woodbridge taught me," Loki said dismissively._

_"And when did you become a blockade runner?" Eugenia asked just as curiously._

_"Mrs. Woodbridge and I were at some of her relatives and they told me it would be benificial," said Loki just as dismissively._

_"But you think the war is just a bunch of garbage," said Eugenia._

_"How would you know that?" Loki asked._

_"I heard the debate you men were having while I was supposed to be taking a nap," said Eugenia mimicing Loki's dismissive tone._

_"Once again, Mrs. Woodbridge taught me," said Loki._

"_Oh, dear, there's the end of the music and there's Aunt Merripennie coming out of the back room. I know Mrs. Prettyman must have told her. Oh, for goodness' sakes, let's walk over and look out the window. I don't want her to catch me now. Her eyes are as big as saucers._

_..._

_Over the waffles next morning, Merripennie was lachrymose, Amelia was silent and Eugenia defiant._

"_I don't care if they do talk. I'll bet I made more money for the hospital than any girl there-more than all the messy old stuff we sold, too."_

"_Oh, dear, what does the money matter?" wailed Merripennie, wringing her hands. "I just couldn't believe my eyes, and poor Adam hardly dead a year. . . . And that awful Captain Porter, making you so conspicuous, and he's a terrible, terrible person, Scarlett. Mrs. Jinkerson's cousin, Mrs. Ellis, whose husband came from London, told me about him. He's the black sheep of a lovely family-oh, how could any of the Porters ever turn out anything like him? He isn't received in Charleston and he has the fastest reputation and there was something about a girl-something so bad Mrs. Ellis didn't even know what it was-"_

"_Oh, I can't believe he's that bad," said Mally gently. "He seemed a perfect gentleman and when you think how brave he's been, running the blockade-"_

"_He isn't brave," said Eugenia perversely, pouring half a pitcher of syrup over her waffles. "He just does it for money. He told me so. He doesn't care anything about the Confederacy and he says we're going to get licked. But he dances divinely."_

_Her audience was speechless with horror._

"_I'm tired of sitting at home and I'm not going to do it any longer. If they all talked about me about last night, then my reputation is already gone and it won't matter what else they say." It did not occur to her that the idea was Loki's. It came so patly and fitted so well with what she was thinking._

"_Oh! What will your mother say when she hears? What will she think of me?"_

_A cold qualm of guilt assailed Scarlett at the thought of Alice's consternation, should she ever learn of her daughter's scandalous conduct. But she took heart at the thought of the twenty-five miles between Atlanta and Tara. Miss Merri certainly wouldn't tell Alice. It would put her in such a bad light as a chaperon. And if Merri didn't tattle, she was safe._

"_I think-" said Merri, "yes, I think I'd better write Henry a letter about it-much as I hate it- but he's our only male relative, and make him go speak reprovingly to Captain Porter- Oh,dear, if Adam were only alive- You must never, never speak to that man again, Eugenia."_

_Amelia had been sitting quietly, her hands in her lap, her waffles cooling on her plate. She arose and, coming behind Scarlett, put her arms about her neck._

"_Darling," she said, "don't you get upset. I understand and it was a brave thing you did last night and it's going to help the hospital a lot. And if anybody dares say one little word about you, I'll tend to them. . . . Aunt Merri, don't cry. It has been hard on Eugenia, not going anywhere. She's just a baby." Her fingers played in Eugenia's ash blonde hair. "And maybe we'd all be better off if we went out occasionally to parties. Maybe we've been very selfish, staying here with our grief. War times aren't like other times. When I think of all the soldiers in town who are far from home and haven't any friends to call on at night-and the ones in the hospital who are well enough to be out of bed and not well enough to go back in the army- Why, we have been selfish. We ought to have three convalescents in our house this minute, like everybody else, and some of the soldiers out to dinner every Sunday. There, Eugenia, don't you fret. People won't talk when they understand. We know you loved Adam."_

_Eugenia was far from fretting and Amelia's soft hands in her hair were irritating. She wanted to jerk her head away and say "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!" for the warming memory was still on her of how the Home Guard and the militia and the soldiers from the hospital had fought for her dances last night. Of all the people in the world, she didn't want Mally for a defender. She could defend herself, thank you, and if the old cats wanted to squall- well, she could get along without the old cats. There were too many nice officers in the world for her to bother about what old women said._

_Merripenni was dabbing at her eyes under Amelia's soothing words when Dinah entered with a bulky letter._

"_Fer you. Miss Mally. A lil nigger boy brung it."_

"_For me?" said Mally, wondering, as she ripped open the envelope._

_Eugenia was making headway with her waffles and so noticed nothing until she heard a burst of tears from Mally and, looking up, saw Aunt Merripennie's hand go to her heart._

"_Ashley's dead!" screamed Merripennie, throwing her head back and letting her arms go limp._

"_Oh, my God!" cried Eugenia, her blood turning to ice water._

"_No! No!" cried Amelia. "Quick! Her smelling salts, Eugenia! There, there, honey, do you feel better? Breathe deep. No, it's not Daniel. I'm so sorry I scared you. I was crying because I'm so happy," and suddenly she opened her clenched palm and pressed some object that was in it to her lips. "I'm so happy," and burst into tears again._

_Eugenia caught a fleeting glimpse and saw that it was a broad gold ring."Read it," said Mally, pointing to the letter on the floor. "Oh, how sweet, how kind, he is!"_

_Eugenia, bewildered, picked up the single sheet and saw written in a black, bold hand: "The Confederacy may need the lifeblood of its men but not yet does it demand the heart's blood of its women. Accept, dear Madam, this token of my reverence for your courage and do not think that your sacrifice has been in vain, for this ring has been redeemed at ten times its value. Captain Lucas Porter."_

_Amelia slipped the ring on her finger and looked at it lovingly._

"_I told you he was a gentleman, didn't I?" she said turning to Merripennie, her smile bright through the teardrops on her face. "No one but a gentleman of refinement and thoughtfulness would ever have thought how it broke my heart to- I'll send my gold chain instead. Aunt Merripennie, you must write him a note and invite him to Sunday dinner so I can thank him."_

_In the excitement, neither of the others seemed to have thought that Loki had not returned Eugenia's ring, too. But she thought of it, annoyed. And she knew it had not been Loki's refinement that had prompted so gallant a gesture. It was that he intended to be asked into Pittypat's house and knew unerringly how to get the invitation._

_..._

"_I was greatly disturbed to hear of your recent conduct," ran Alice's letter and Eugenia, who was reading it at the table, scowled. Bad news certainly traveled swiftly. She had often heard in Charleston and Savannah that Atlanta people gossiped more and meddled in other people's business more than any other people in the South, and now she believed it. The bazaar had taken place Monday night and today was only Thursday. Which of the old cats had taken it upon herself to write Alice? For a moment she suspected Merripennie but immediately abandoned that thought. Poor Merripennie had been quaking in her number-three shoes for fear of being blamed for Eugenia's forward conduct and would be the last to notify Alice of her own inadequate chaperonage. Probably it was Mrs. Prettyman._

"_It is difficult for me to believe that you could so forget yourself and your rearing. I will pass over the impropriety of your appearing publicly while in mourning, realizing your warm desire to be of assistance to the hospital. But to dance, and with such a man as Captain Porter! I have heard much of him (as who has not?) and Marguerite wrote me only last week that he is a man of bad repute and not even received by his own family in London and not even by his family in Charleston, except of course by his heartbroken mother. He is a thoroughly bad character who would take advantage of your youth and innocence to make you conspicuous and publicly disgrace you and your family. How could Miss Merripennie have so neglected her duty to you?"_

_Eugenia looked across the table at her aunt. The old lady had recognized Alice's handwriting and her fat little mouth was pursed in a frightened way, like a baby who fears a scolding and hopes to ward it off by tears._

"_I am heartbroken to think that you could so soon forget your rearing. I have thought of calling you home immediately but will leave that to your father's discretion. He will be in Atlanta Friday to speak with Captain Porter and to escort you home. I fear he will be severe with you despite my pleadings. I hope and pray it was only youth and thoughtlessness that prompted such forward conduct. No one can wish to serve our Cause more than I, and I wish my daughters to feel the same way, but to disgrace-"_

_There was more in the same vein but Eugenia did not finish it. For once, she was thoroughly frightened. She did not feel reckless and defiant now. She felt as young and guilty as when she was ten and had thrown a buttered biscuit at Emmabeth at the table. To think of her gentle mother reproving her so harshly and her father coming to town to talk to Captain Porter. The real seriousness of the matter grew on her. Thomas was going to be severe. This was one time when she knew she couldn't wiggle out of her punishment by sitting on his knee and being sweet and pert._

"_Not-not bad news?" quavered Merripennie._

"_Daddy is coming tomorrow and he's going to land on me like a duck on a June bug," answered Eugenia dolorously._

"_Dinah, find my salts," fluttered Merripennie, pushing back her chair from her half-eaten meal. "I-I feel faint."_

"_Dey's in yo' skirt pocket," said Dinah, who had been hovering behind Eugenia, enjoying the sensational drama. Mist' Thomas in a temper was always exciting, providing his temper was not directed at her kinky head. Merri fumbled at her skirt and held the vial to her nose._

"_You all must stand by me and not leave me alone with him for one minute," cried Eugenia. "He's so fond of you both, and if you are with me he can't fuss at me."_

"_I couldn't," said Merripennie weakly, rising to her feet. "I-I feel ill. I must go lie down. I shall lie down all day tomorrow. You must give him my excuses."_

"_Coward!" thought Eugenia, glowering at her._

_Mally rallied to the defense, though white and frightened at the prospect of facing the fire-eating Mr. Rotchford. "I'll-I'll help you explain how you did it for the hospital. Surely he'll understand."_

"_No, he won't," said Eugenia. "And oh, I shall die if I have to go back to Tessa in disgrace, like Ma threatens!"_

"_Oh, you can't go home," cried Pittypat, bursting into tears. "If you did I should be forced-yes, forced to ask Michael to come live with us, and you know I just couldn't live with Michael. I'm so nervous with just Mally in the house at night, with so many strange men in town. You're so brave I don't mind being here without a man!"_

"_Oh, he couldn't take you to Tessa!" said Mally, looking as if she too would cry in a moment. "This is your home now. What would we ever do without you?"_

"_You'd be glad to do without me if you knew what I really think of you," thought Eugenia sourly, wishing there were some other person than Amelia to help ward off Thomas' wrath. It was sickening to be defended by someone you disliked so much._

"_Perhaps we should recall our invitation to Captain Porter-" began Merripennie._

"_Oh, we couldn't! It would be the height of rudeness!" cried Mally, distressed._

"_Help me to bed. I'm going to be ill," moaned Merripennie. "Oh, Eugenia, how could you have brought this on me?"_

_..._

_Merripennie was ill and in her bed when Thomas arrived the next afternoon. She sent many messages of regret to him from behind her closed door and left the two frightened girls to preside over the supper table. Thomas was ominously silent although he kissed Eugenia and pinched Amelia's cheek approvingly and called her "Cousin Mally." Eugenia would have infinitely preferred bellowing oaths and accusations. True to her promise, Amelia clung to Eugenia's skirts like a small rustling shadow and Thomas was too much of a gentleman to upbraid his daughter in front of her. Scarlett had to admit that Amelia carried off things very well, acting as if she knew nothing was amiss, and she actually succeeded in engaging Thomas in conversation, once the supper had been served._

"_I want to know all about the County," she said, beaming upon him. "Lucy and Ann are such poor correspondents, and I know you know everything that goes on down there. Do tell us about Marcus Banks' wedding."_

_Thomas warmed to the flattery and said that the wedding had been a quiet affair, "not like you girls had," for Joe had only a few days' furlough. Joy, the little Joy chit, had it, too, that they were mentioned in dispatches for bravery?"_

"_No! Tell us!"_

"_Hare brained-both of them. I'm believing there's Irish in them," said Thomas complacently. "I forget what they did, but Edward is a lieutenant now."_

_Eugenia felt pleased at hearing of their exploits, pleased in a proprietary manner. Once a man had been her beau, she never lost the conviction that he belonged to her, and all his good deeds redounded to her credit._

"_And I've news that'll be holding the both of you," said Thomas. "They're saying Wally is courting at Oakfield again."_

"_Ann or Lucy?" questioned Mally excitedly, while Eugenia stared almost indignantly._

"_Oh, Miss Lucy, to be sure. Didn't she have him fast till this baggage of mine winked at him?"_

"_Oh," said Mally, somewhat embarrassed at Thomas' outspokenness._

"_And more than that, young Edward has taken to hanging about Tessa. Now!"_

_Eugenia could not speak. The defection of her beaux was almost insulting. Especially when she recalled how wildly both the twins had acted when she told them she was going to marry Adam. Walter had even threatened to shoot Adam, or Eugenia, or himself, or all three. It had been most exciting._

"_Emmabeth?" questioned Melly, breaking into a pleased smile. "But I thought Mr. Grigsby-"_

"_Oh, him?" said Thomas. "Henry Grigsby still pussyfoots about, afraid of his shadow, and I'll be asking him his intentions soon if he doesn't speak up. No, 'tis me baby."_

"_Mary Cate?"_

"_She's nothing but a child!" said Eugenia sharply, finding her tongue._

"_She's little more than a year younger than you were, Miss, when you were married," retorted Thomas. "Is it you're grudging your old beau to your sister?" Melly blushed, unaccustomed to such frankness, and signaled Joseph to bring in the sweet potato pie. Frantically she cast about in her mind for some other topic of conversation which would not be so personal but which would divert Mr. O'Hara from the purpose of his trip._

_She could think of nothing but, once started, Thomas needed no stimulus other than an audience. He talked on about the thievery of the commissary department which every month increased its demands, the knavish stupidity of Jefferson Davis and the blackguardery of the Irish who were being enticed into the Yankee army by bounty money._

_When the wine was on the table and the two girls rose to leave him, Thomas cocked a severe eye at his daughter from under frowning brows and commanded her presence alone for a few minutes. Eugenia cast a despairing glance at Mally, who twisted her handkerchief helplessly and went out, softly pulling the sliding doors together._

"_How now, Missy!" bawled Thomas, pouring himself a glass of port. "'Tis a fine way to act! Is it another husband you're trying to catch and you so fresh a widow?"_

"_Not so loud, Daddy, the servants-"_

"_They know already, to be sure, and everybody knows of our disgrace. And your poor mother taking to her bed with it and me not able to hold up me head. 'Tis shameful. No, Puss, you need not think to get around me with tears this time," he said hastily and with some panic in his voice as Eugenia's lids began to bat and her mouth to screw up. "I know you. You'd be flirting at the wake of your husband. Don't cry. There, I'll be saying no more tonight, for I'm going to see this fine Captain Porter who makes so light of me daughter's reputation. But in the morning- There now, don't cry. Twill do you no good at all, at all. 'Tis firm that I am and back to Tara you'll be going tomorrow before you're disgracing the lot of us again. Don't cry, pet. Look what I've brought you! Isn't that a pretty present? See, look! How could you be putting so much trouble on me, bringing me all the way up here when 'tis a busy man I am? Don't cry!"_

_..._

_Amelia and Merripennie had gone to sleep hours before, but Eugenia lay awake in the warm darkness, her heart heavy and frightened in her breast. To leave Atlanta when life had just begun again and go home and face Alice! She would rather die than face her mother. She wished she were dead, this very minute, then everyone would be sorry they had been so hateful. She turned and tossed on the hot pillow until a noise far up the quiet street reached her ears. It was an oddly familiar noise, blurred and indistinct though it was. She slipped out of bed and went to the window._

_The street with its over-arching trees was softly, deeply black under a dim star-studded sky. The noise came closer, the sound of wheels, the plod of a horse's hooves and voices. And suddenly she grinned for, as a voice thick with brogue and whisky came to her, raised in_

"_Peg in a Low-backed Car," she knew. This might not be Jonesboro on Court Day, but Thomas was coming home in the same condition. She saw the dark bulk of a buggy stop in front of the house and indistinct figures alight. Someone was with him. Two figures paused at the gate and she heard the click of the latch and Thomas voice came plain,_

"_Now I'll be giving you the 'Lament for Robert Emmet.' 'Tis a song you should be knowing, me lad. I'll teach it to you."_

"_I'd like to learn it," replied his companion, a hint of buried laughter in his flat drawling voice. "But not now, Mr. Rotchford."_

"_Oh, my God, it's that hateful Loki man!" thought Eugenia, at first annoyed. Then she took heart. At least they hadn't shot each other. And they must be on amicable terms to be coming home together at this hour and in this condition._

"_Sing it I will and listen you will or I'll be shooting you for the Yorkshire man you are."_

"_Not Yorkshire-London."_

"'_Tis no better. 'Tis worse. I have two cousin's in London and I know."_

"_Is he going to tell the whole neighborhood?" thought Eugenia panic-stricken, reaching for her wrapper. But what could she do? She couldn't go downstairs at this hour of the night and drag her father in from the street._

_With no further warning, Thomas, who was hanging on the gate, threw back his head and began the "Lament," in a roaring bass. Scarlett rested her elbows on the window sill and listened, grinning unwillingly. It would be a beautiful song, if only her father could carry a tune. It was one of her favorite songs and, for a moment, she followed the fine melancholy of those verses beginning:_

"_She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps And lovers are round her sighing."_

_The song went on and she heard stirrings in Merripennie's and Mally's rooms. Poor things, they'd certainly be upset. They were not used to full-blooded males like Thomas. When the song had finished, two forms merged into one, came up the walk and mounted the steps. A discreet knock sounded at the door._

"_I suppose I must go down," thought Eugenia. "After all he's my father and poor Pitty would die before she'd go." Besides, she didn't want the servants to see Gerald in his present condition. And if Joseph tried to put him to bed, he might get unruly. Pork was the only one who knew how to handle him._

_She pinned the wrapper close about her throat, lit her bedside candle and hurried down thedark stairs into the front hall. Setting the candle on the stand, she unlocked the door and in the wavering light she saw Rhett Butler, not a ruffle disarranged, supporting her small, thickset father. The "Lament" had evidently been Thomas' swan song for he was frankly hanging onto his companion's arm. His hat was gone, his crisp long hair was tumbled in a white mane, his cravat was under one ear, and there were liquor stains down his shirt bosom._

"_Your father, I believe?" said Loki, his eyes amused in his swarthy face. He took incher dishabille in one glance that seemed to penetrate through her wrapper._

"_Bring him in," she said shortly, embarrassed at her attire, infuriated at Thomas for putting her in a position where this man could laugh at her._

_Loki propelled Thomas forward. "Shall I help you take him upstairs? You cannot manage him. He's quite heavy."_

_Her mouth fell open with horror at the audacity of his proposal. Just imagine what Merripennie and Mally cowering in their beds would think, should Loki come upstairs!_

"_Mother of God, no! In here, in the parlor on that settee."_

"_The settee, did you say?"_

"_I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Here. Now lay him down."_

"_Shall I take off his boots?"_

"_No. He's slept in them before."_

_She could have bitten off her tongue for that slip, for he laughed softly as he crossed Thomas' legs._

"_Please go, now."_

_He walked out into the dim hall and picked up the hat he had dropped on the doorsill._

"_I will be seeing you Sunday at dinner," he said and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind him._

_Eugenia arose at five-thirty, before the servants had come in from the back yard to start breakfast, and slipped down the steps to the quiet lower floor. Thomas was awake, sitting on the sofa, his hands gripping his bullet head as if he wished to crush it between his palms. He looked up furtively as she entered. The pain of moving his eyes was too excruciating to be borne and he groaned._

"_Wurra the day!"_

"_It's a fine way you've acted, Daddy," she began in a furious whisper. "Coming home at such an hour and waking all the neighbors with your singing."_

"_I sang?"_

"_Sang! You woke the echoes singing the 'Lament.'"_

"'_Tis nothing I'm remembering."_

"_The neighbors will remember it till their dying day and so will Miss Merripennie and Amelia."_

"_Mother of Sorrows," moaned Thomas, moving a thickly furred tongue around parched lips._

"'_Tis little I'm remembering after the game started."_

"_Game?"_

"_That laddybuck Butler bragged that he was the best poker player in-"_

"_How much did you lose?"_

"_Why, I won, naturally. A drink or two helps me game."_

"_Look in your wallet."_

_As if every movement was agony, Thomas removed his wallet from his coat and opened it. It was empty and he looked at it in forlorn bewilderment._

"_Five hundred dollars," he said. "And 'twas to buy things from the blockaders for Mrs. Rotchford, and now not even fare left to Tara."_

_As she looked indignantly at the empty purse, an idea took form in Eugenia's mind and grew swiftly._

"_I'll not be holding up my head in this town," she began. "You've disgraced us all."_

"_Hold your tongue, Puss. Can you not see me head is bursting?"_

"_Coming home drunk with a man like Captain Porter, and singing at the top of your lungs for everyone to hear and losing all that money."_

"_The man is too clever with cards to be a gentleman. He-"_

"_What will Ma say when she hears?"_

_He looked up in sudden anguished apprehension. "You wouldn't be telling your mother a word and upsetting her, now would you?"_

_Eugenia said nothing but pursed her lips._

"_Think now how 'twould hurt her and her so gentle."_

"_And to think, Daddy, that you said only last night I had disgraced the family! Me, with my poor little dance to make money for the soldiers. Oh, I could cry."_

"_Well, don't," pleaded Thomas. "'Twould be more than me poor head could stand and sure 'tis bursting now."_

"_And you said that I-"_

"_Now Puss, now Puss, don't you be hurt at what your poor old father said and him not meaning a thing and not understanding a thing! Sure, you're a fine well-meaning girl, I'm sure."_

"_And wanting to take me home in disgrace."_

"_Ah, darling, I wouldn't be doing that. 'Twas to tease you. You won't be mentioning the money to your mother and her in a flutter about expenses already?"_

"_No," said Scarlett frankly, "I won't, if you'll let me stay here and if you'll tell Ma that 'twas nothing but a lot of gossip from old cats."_

_Thomas looked mournfully at his daughter._

"'_Tis blackmail, no less."_

"_And last night was a scandal, no less."_

"_Well," he began wheedlingly, "we'll be forgetting all that. And do you think a fine pretty lady like Miss Merripennie would be having any brandy in the house? The hair of the dog-"_

_Scarlett turned and tiptoed through the silent hall into the dining room to get the brandy bottle that she and Melly privately called the "swoon bottle" because Merripennie always took a sip from it when her fluttering heart made her faint-or seem to faint. Triumph was written on her face and no trace of shame for her unfilial treatment of Thomas. Now Alice would be soothed with lies if any other busybody wrote her. Now she could stay in Atlanta. Now she could do almost as she pleased, Merripennie being the weak vessel that she was. She unlocked the cellaret and stood for a moment with the bottle and glass pressed to her bosom. She saw a long vista of picnics by the bubbling waters of Peachtree Creek and barbecues at Stone Mountain, receptions and balls, afternoon danceables, buggy rides and Sunday-night buffet suppers. She would be there, right in the heart of things, right in the center of a crowd of men. And men fell in love so easily, after you did little things for them at the hospital. She wouldn't mind the hospital so much now. Men were so easily stirred when they had been ill. They fell into a clever girl's hand just like the ripe peaches at Tara when the trees were gently shaken._

_She went back toward her father with the reviving liquor, thanking Heaven that the famous Rotchford head had not been able to survive last night's bout and wondering suddenly if Loki had had anything to do with that._

_..._

_On an afternoon of the following week, Eugenia came home from the hospital weary and indignant. She was tired from standing on her feet all morning and irritable because Mrs. Prettyman had scolded her sharply for sitting on a soldier's bed while she dressed his wounded arm. Aunt Merri and Amelia, bonneted in their best, were on the porch with Tommy and Dinah, ready for their weekly round of calls. Scarlett asked to be excused from accompanying them and went upstairs to her room._

_When the last sound of carriage wheels had died away and she knew the family was safely out of sight, she slipped quietly into Melanie's room and turned the key in the lock. It was a prim, virginal little room and it lay still and warm in the slanting rays of the four-o'clock sun. The floors were glistening and bare except for a few bright rag rugs, and the white walls unornamented save for one corner which Melanie had fitted up as a shrine._

_Here, under a draped Confederate flag, hung the gold-hilted saber that Melanie's father had carried in the Mexican War, the same saber Adam had worn away to war. Adam's sash and pistol belt hung there too, with his revolver in the holster. Between the saber and the pistol was a daguerreotype of Adam himself, very stiff and proud in his gray uniform, his great brown eyes shining out of the frame and a shy smile on his lips._

_Eugenia did not even glance at the picture but went unhesitatingly across the room to the square rosewood writing box that stood on the table beside the narrow bed. From it she took a pack of letters tied together with a blue ribbon, addressed in Daniel's hand to Amelia. On the top was the letter which had come that morning and this one she opened._

_When Eugenia first began secretly reading these letters, she had been so stricken of conscience and so fearful of discovery she could hardly open the envelopes for trembling. Now, her never- too-scrupulous sense of honor was dulled by repetition of the offense and even fear of discovery had subsided. Occasionally, she thought with a sinking heart, "What would Ma say if she knew?" She knew Alice would rather see her dead than know her guilty of such dishonor. This had worried Eugenia at first, for she still wanted to be like her mother in every respect. But the temptation to read the letters was too great and she put the thought of Alice out of her mind. She had become adept at putting unpleasant thoughts out of her mind these days. She had learned to say, "I won't think of this or that bothersome thought now. I'll think about it tomorrow." Generally when tomorrow came, the thought either did not occur at all or it was so attenuated by the delay it was not very troublesome. So the matter of Daniel's letters did not lie very heavily on her conscience. Amelia was always generous with the letters, reading parts of them aloud to Aunt Merri and Eugenia. But it was the part she did not read that tormented Scarlett, that drove her to surreptitious reading of her sister-in-law's mail. She had to know if Ashley had come to love his wife since marrying her. She had to know if he even pretended to love her. Did he address tender endearments to her? What sentiments did he express and with what warmth? She carefully smoothed out the letter._

_Daniel's small even writing leaped up at her as she read, "My dear wife," and she breathed in relief. He wasn't calling Amelia "Darling" or "Sweetheart" yet._

"_My Dear wife: You write me saying you are alarmed lest I be concealing my real thoughts from you and you ask me what is occupying my mind these days-"_

"_Mother of God!" thought Eugenia, in a panic of guilt. "'Concealing his real thoughts.' Can Mally have read his mind? Or my mind? Does she suspect that he and I-"_

_Her hands trembled with fright as she held the letter closer, but as she read the next paragraph she relaxed._

"_Dear Wife, if I have concealed aught from you it is because I did not wish to lay a burden on your shoulders, to add to your worries for my physical safety with those of my mental turmoil. But I can keep nothing from you, for you know me too well. Do not be alarmed. I have no wound. I have not been ill. I have enough to eat and occasionally a bed to sleep in. A soldier can ask for no more. But Amelia, heavy thoughts lie on my heart and I will open my heart to you._

"_These summer nights I lie awake, long after the camp is sleeping, and I look up at the stars and, over and over, I wonder, 'Why are you here, Daniel Montgomery? What are you fighting for?' "Not for honor and glory, certainly. War is a dirty business and I do not like dirt. I am not a soldier and I have no desire to seek the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth. Yet, here I am at the wars-whom God never intended to be other than a studious country gentleman. For, Amelia, bugles do not stir my blood nor drums entice my feet and I see too clearly that we have been betrayed, betrayed by our arrogant Southern selves, believing that one of us could whip a dozen Yankees, believing that King Cotton could rule the world. Betrayed, too, by words and catch phrases, prejudices and hatreds coming from the mouths of those highly placed, those men whom we respected and revered-'King Cotton, Slavery, States' Rights, Damn Yankees.'_

"_And so when I lie on my blanket and look up at the stars and say 'What are you fighting for?' I think of States' Rights and cotton and the darkies and the Yankees whom we have been bred to hate, and I know that none of these is the reason why I am fighting. Instead, I see Oakfield and remember how the moonlight slants across the white columns, and the unearthly way the magnolias look, opening under the moon, and how the climbing roses make the side porch shady even at the hottest noon. And I see Mother, sewing there, as she did when I was a little boy. And I hear the darkies coming home across the fields at dusk,tired and singing and ready for supper, and the sound of the windlass as the bucket goes down into the cool well. And there's the long view down the road to the river, across the cotton fields, and the mist rising from the bottom lands in the twilight. And that is why I'm here who have no love of death or misery or glory and no hatred for anyone. Perhaps that is what is called patriotism, love of home and country. But Amelia, it goes deeper than that. For, Amelia, these things I have named are but the symbols of the thing for which I risk my life, symbols of the kind of life I love. For I am fighting for the old days, the old ways I love so much but which, I fear, are now gone forever, no matter how the die may fall. For, win or lose, we lose just the same._

"_If we win this war and have the Cotton Kingdom of our dreams, we still have lost, for we will become a different people and the old quiet ways will go. The world will be at our doors clamoring for cotton and we can command our own price. Then, I fear, we will become like the Yankees, at whose money-making activities, acquisitiveness and commercialism we now sneer. And if we lose, Amelia, if we lose!_

"_I am not afraid of danger or capture or wounds or even death, if death must come, but I do fear that once this war is over, we will never get back to the old times. And I belong in those old times. I do not belong in this mad present of killing and I fear I will not fit into any future, try though I may. Nor will you, my dear, for you and I are of the same blood. I do not know what the future will bring, but it cannot be as beautiful or as satisfying as the past. "I lie and look at the boys sleeping near me and I wonder if the twins or Toby or Sid think these same thoughts. I wonder if they know they are fighting for a Cause that was lost the minute the first shot was fired, for our Cause is really our own way of living and that is gone already. But I do not think they think these things and they are lucky._

"_I had not thought of this for us when I asked you to marry me. I had thought of life going on at Oakfield as it had always done, peacefully, easily, unchanging. We are alike, Amelia, loving the same quiet things, and I saw before us a long stretch of uneventful years in which to read, hear music and dream. But not this! Never this! That this could happen to us all, this wrecking of old ways, this bloody slaughter and hate! Amelia, nothing is worth it-States' Rights, nor slaves, nor cotton. Nothing is worth what is happening to us now and what may happen, for if the Yankees whip us the future will be one of incredible horror. And, my dear, they may yet whip us._

"_I should not write those words. I should not even think them. But you have asked me what was in my heart, and the fear of defeat is there. Do you remember at the barbecue, the day our engagement was announced, that a man named Porter, a Englishman by his accent, nearly caused a fight by his remarks about the ignorance of Southerners? Do you recall how the twins wanted to shoot him because he said we had few foundries and factories, mills and ships, arsenals and machine shops? Do you recall how he said the Yankee fleet could bottle us up so tightly we could not ship out our cotton? He was right. We are fighting the Yankees' new rifles with Revolutionary War muskets, and soon the blockade will be too tight for even medical supplies to slip in. We should have paid heed to cynics like Porter who knew, instead of statesmen who felt-and talked. He said, in effect, that the South had nothing with which to wage war but cotton and arrogance. Our cotton is worthless and what he called arrogance is all that is left. But I call that arrogance matchless courage. If-"_

_But Scarlett carefully folded up the letter without finishing it and thrust it back into the envelope, too bored to read further. Besides, the tone of the letter vaguely depressed her with its foolish talk of defeat. After all, she wasn't reading Amelia's mail to learn Daniel's puzzling and uninteresting ideas. She had had to listen to enough of them when he sat on the porch at Tessa in days gone by._

_All she wanted to know was whether he wrote impassioned letters to his wife. So far he had not. She had read every letter in the writing box and there was nothing in any one of them that a brother might not have written to a sister. They were affectionate, humorous, discursive, but not the letters of a lover. Eugenia had received too many ardent love letters herself not to recognize the authentic note of passion when she saw it. And that note was missing. As always after her secret readings, a feeling of smug satisfaction enveloped her, for she felt certain that Daniel still loved her. And always she wondered sneeringly why_

_Amelia did not realize that Daniel only loved her as a friend. Amelia evidently found nothing lacking in her husband's messages but Amelia had had no other man's love letters with which to compare Daniel's._

"_He writes such crazy letters," Eugenia thought. "If ever any husband of mine wrote me such twaddle-twaddle, he'd certainly hear from me! Why, even Adam wrote better letters than these."_

_She flipped back the edges of the letters, looking at the dates, remembering their contents. In them there were no fine descriptive pages of bivouacs and charges such as Darcy Meade wrote his parents or poor Harrison Bennet had written his old-maid sisters, Misses Diane and Charlotte. The Greenwell's and Bennet's proudly read these letters all over the neighborhood, and Eugenia had frequently felt a secret shame that Melanie had no such letters from Ashley to read aloud at sewing circles._

_It was as though when writing Amelia, Daniel tried to ignore the war altogether, and sought to draw about the two of them a magic circle of timelessness, shutting out everything that had happened since Fort Sumter was the news of the day. It was almost as if he were trying to believe there wasn't any war. He wrote of books which he and Amelia had read and songs they had sung, of old friends they knew and places he had visited on his Grand Tour. Through the letters ran a wistful yearning to be back home at Oakfield, and for pages he wrote of the hunting and the long rides through the still forest paths under frosty autumn stars, the barbecues, the fish fries, the quiet of moonlight nights and the serene charm of the old house._

_She thought of his words in the letter she had just read: "Not this! Never this!" and they seemed to cry of a tormented soul facing something he could not face, yet must face. It puzzled her for, if he was not afraid of wounds and death, what was it he feared? Unanalytical, she struggled with the complex thought._

"_The war disturbs him and he-he doesn't like things that disturb him. . . . Me, for instance. . . . He loved me but he was afraid to marry me because-for fear I'd upset his way of thinking and living. No, it wasn't exactly that he was afraid. Daniel isn't a coward. He couldn't be when he's been mentioned in dispatches and when Colonel Shaw wrote that letter to Mally all about his gallant conduct in leading the charge. Once he's made up his mind to do something, no one could be braver or more determined but- He lives inside his head instead of outside in the world and he hates to come out into the world and- Oh, I don't know what it is! If I'd just understood this one thing about him years ago, I know he'd have married me."_

_She stood for a moment holding the letters to her breast, thinking longingly of Ashley. Her emotions toward him had not changed since the day when she first fell in love with him. They were the same emotions that struck her speechless that day when she was fourteen years old and she had stood on the porch of Terra and seen Daniel ride up smiling, his hair shining silver in the morning sun. Her love was still a young girl's adoration for a man she could not understand, a man who possessed all the qualities she did not own but which she admired. He was still a young girl's dream of the Perfect Knight and her dream asked no more than acknowledgment of his love, went no further than hopes of a kiss._

_After reading the letters, she felt certain he did love her, Scarlett, even though he had married Amelia, and that certainty was almost all that she desired. She was still that young and untouched. Had Adam with his fumbling awkwardness and his embarrassed intimacies tapped any of the deep vein of passionate feeling within her, her dreams of Daniel would not be ending with a kiss. But those few moonlight nights alone with Charles had not touched her emotions or ripened her to maturity. Charles had awakened no idea of what passion might be or tenderness or true intimacy of body or spirit._

_All that passion meant to her was servitude to inexplicable male madness, unshared by females, a painful and embarrassing process that led inevitably to the still more painful process of childbirth. That marriage should be like this was no surprise to her. Alice had hinted before the wedding that marriage was something women must bear with dignity and fortitude, and the whispered comments of other matrons since her widowhood had confirmed this. Scarlett was glad to be done with passion and marriage._

_She was done with marriage but not with love, for her love for Daniel was something different, having nothing to do with passion or marriage, something sacred and breathtakingly beautiful, an emotion that grew stealthily through the long days of her enforced silence, feeding on oft-thumbed memories and hopes._

_She sighed as she carefully tied the ribbon about the packet, wondering for the thousandth time just what it was in Daniel that eluded her understanding. She tried to think the matter to some satisfactory conclusion but, as always, the conclusion evaded her uncomplex mind. She put the letters back in the lap secretary and closed the lid. Then she frowned, for her mind went back to the last part of the letter she had just read, to his mention of Loki. How strange that Ashley should be impressed by something that scamp had said a year ago. Undeniably Loki was a scamp, for all that he danced divinely. No one but a scamp would say the things about the Confederacy that he had said at the bazaar. She crossed the room to the mirror and patted her smooth hair approvingly. Her spirits rose, as always at the sight of her white skin and slanting green eyes, and she smiled to bring out her dimples. Then she dismissed Loki from her mind as she happily viewed her reflection, remembering how Daniel had always liked her dimples. No pang of conscience at loving another woman's husband or reading that woman's mail disturbed her pleasure in her youth and charm and her renewed assurance of Daniel's love._

_She unlocked the door and went down the dim winding stair with a light heart. Halfway down she began singing "When This Cruel War Is Over."_


End file.
